


Look Into My Eyes, I Will Never Desert You

by nictaylor



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU as Hell, F/M, Greyjoys never sack Winterfell, Red Wedding, Robb rescues her, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nictaylor/pseuds/nictaylor
Summary: Robb rescues Sansa from King's Landing, though feels her place is best back home at Winterfell. He leaves it up to Theon to be the one to bring her home before returning to the war camp. Though, tragedy falls before he can return, leaving Theon in Winterfell with Sansa to try and make things right in a world that is falling apart around them.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Margaery Tyrell, Talisa Maegyr/Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 68
Kudos: 135





	1. Dreams of Blizzards

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo... this is my first fanfic. I'm a writer, yes, though I've stuck with the rp side of the fandom, so trying to nail how to write a multi dialogue/POV chapter will be the bane of my existence. Sooo please go easy on me!!
> 
> I had this idea in my head and had to execute it. This will be longish and probably the slowest of slow burns. Just a fair warning. This chapter is a bit of a set up, so I'm promising better quality come the future. I'm going to try to follow along with book/show timeline as much as possible, optimistically ending it post s8. It will definitely be a journey :)
> 
> Just for reference, this begins during season2/ACOK.  
> I'm embracing show ages here because aging characters up is probably the smartest thing they could've done.
> 
> Sansa is about 14 turning 15.  
> Robb/Theon are 17 turning 18.

_It was snowing in Winterfell._

A beautiful, timeless scene.

While she had endured many a snow in her time, this one was much unlike any she had seen before. It was the first _real_ snow of winter. Sansa was perhaps a daughter of winter, but she was born during the long summer, only knowing the _faintest_ of snows. This was a blizzard unlike any other, the winds were moaning in the night, tree branches angrily shoving against castle walls. Peeking from the window, there was white as far as the eye could see. It had to be several feet, most definitely taller than Robb, _perhaps even taller than father_. The sounds of the Stark dire wolves howling through the turbulent weather is what awakens her, though she’s so entranced by the storm that she can’t find an ounce of resentment towards their pets for awakening her from such a deep slumber.

“Sansa, are you awake?” A voice asks through the dark. Turning around, she sees that the wolves have awoken not just her, but her siblings as well. All four of them, as well as her bastard brother, are in her doorway, mirroring that of their own pets. **Two wolf packs in their entirety.**

There’s a grin on her face, the prospect of all of them being together seems _too good to be true_. Sansa’s unsure why she has this feeling, after all, this is her family, she sees them day in and day out. But within her gut, she _knew_ she didn’t. _She just knew it._ As she begins to approach them, they all begin vanishing in a whirlwind of smoke, swirling around her as if this was some twisted joke from the Gods. Sansa panics, a deep unsettling feeling in her stomach, she goes to scream but nothing comes out.

**She wakes up.**

Jolting upright in her bed, it takes her several moments to catch her breath. Her chest rises and falls, eyes scanning the room to reacquaint herself with her surroundings. This _was_ her room, **_but it wasn’t her room_**. King’s Landing was **not** her home, despite how badly she had to pretend it was. Day in and day out she feigned loyalties, lied through her teeth, pretended to disown her family and write them off as nothing but traitors. She worried the longer this went on, that she’d eventually come to regard the lonely halls of King’s Landing as home, and the sharp claws of the Lannisters as family. This thought frightened her to her core.

Though these thoughts are soon disregarded as the sounds of swords drawing and yelling stir her. Panic swells throughout her body, hands grasping at her sheets as a sort of comfort, though she tries to calm her breathing and still her heart, seeing as the loud and furious thudding of the organ in her chest prevents her from hearing the ongoings outside her chamber.

It seems to end before it begins, there’s a quick groan, a sound of weaponry, then a large crash to the floor. _Was this an assassination attempt? Revenge on her brother’s decree of independence?_ The guard’s outside her door seemed to have stood no match against her intruder, and it is now a thudding against her locked door that sets the fear stricken Sansa to finally react. Rushing out of bed, she frantically searches for something - **_anything_** , to use against this invader.

There’s a whole bunch of _nothing_ , and she’s throwing things around, desperately looking for an object to utilize to provide her with a fighting chance. Then her eyes stumbled across the fireplace, _yes_ \- _that would do_ , the fire iron sat aside the crackling fire. Sansa rushes to it, grabbing it with shaky hands and holding it above her head in case she must strike.

An uneven breath is released, arms above her head in a stance that would have had her mercilessly mocked by her siblings. That’s when it happens, the door is kicked in and a group of people in disguise break into her room. _It was now or never to act,_ though Sansa of all people knew her physical actions would not nearly amount to as much as she could attempt with her words, so she dared to speak.

“ _I wouldn’t do this, if I were you_.” She begins with a warning, eyes piercing through her enemies with all the ferocity she could muster. “I am Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, the daughter of Lord Eddard and the sister of Robb Stark, the King in the North.” It is the first time in three years she has _dared_ uttered such words, they are like lead on her tongue, though once they are spoken out into the room, the strength of these words only encourages her to continue. “If you harm me, I assure you the Northern Armies _will_ find you, and my brother, the young wolf, _will_ seek revenge.” She wasn’t sure if this was the case, but fear had her talking a game bigger than she ever had before.

That’s when Sansa hears it - _**laughter**_. An obnoxious laughter that sounded _oh so familiar_ , yet she couldn’t put a finger on it. Still, despite the apparent amusement, she keeps her stance, ready to sharpen her tongue like a knife once more. But then the laughter continues even more, one of the figures removing their helmet.

_**Theon Greyjoy.** _

_Of course._

That laughter was the very same that _haunted_ her childhood, that followed in Robb’s shadows and mocked her. Looking at him, Sansa’s expression grows from anger to confusion, though things soon make sense once the other helmets are revealed. Dacey Mormont, the SmallJon, and Robb.

**_Robb._ **

He had come for her - _finally,_ fulfilling long dreams that had been hopelessly crushed time and time again. Each new day in King’s Landing gave her disappointment into the idea that her King brother would rush and rescue her, much like in the games they played as children. Sansa lowers her arms, fire iron dropping to the floor in shock. It felt as if she was looking at a ghost. Her brother was still the same, curly auburn hair and a crooked grin as he looked at her, yet he was a man grown now, a king - _truly_ , in every sense of the word. He was so effortlessly everything Joffrey could not be.

Though she doesn’t believe it. This couldn’t be happening, she couldn’t have her chance at escape. It had to be some illusion, a dream, _anything but reality._ Sansa watches as Robb rolls his eyes at Theon for laughing, stepping forward to get a better look at her. “Look at you,” he mutters, “How you’ve grown..” his words trail off in disbelief, “no longer that little girl begging me to play knights and princesses with you.” There’s a chuckle behind his words, but Sansa is still in far too much shock to be able to match his tone.

There’s a sound of a throat clearing, Sansa looking to the source, Dacey Mormont. “Not to interrupt this touching reunion and all, but we’ve got about five minutes before the Lannister men notice and this whole thing would have been for nothing.”

There’s a sudden shift in the mood, Robb moving to her, urging her along. While there’s still a part of her that questions the reality of this situation, she realizes she’s far better off with this risk than anything that could happen to her here. Theon hands her a robe, then draws his own weapon, moving behind Robb and Sansa as Dacey and the SmallJon take the front, sneaking through dark and empty corridors, stepping over the occasional body deposited as a result of the northern break in.

“ _How_ is this possible? _How are you even here right now?_ ” Sansa finally asks, voice a whisper to avoid risk of waking anyone.

“We’ll be able to discuss all of this soon. But now we must continue, you’ll understand all of this soon enough.” Her brother answers, tone urgent, words quick and impactful, much like his feet upon the tiled floors beneath them.

So silent she remains, following closely, meeting their speed. It seemed as if a perfectly drawn out map was guiding them, one studied to memorization, seeing as no parchment led them through the many passages. There were some halls she recognized, though the further they went within the castle, the sooner she realized these were paths that were not known to the average person. Sansa wondered if even Cersei had knowledge of such deep and low leveled entrances to and from the Red Keep.

They continued on, at least for another twenty or so minutes, though time began to blend and she couldn’t even tell how long it was between each passing minute anymore. But her feet were growing tired and her breath uneven as she attempted to remain in pace with people who were far more used to running for such long distances. Soon enough, however, she gets her break. Within the lower level, there’s a door that exposes a few more northern men, this time with several horses. While horseback riding isn’t the most comfortable, it certainly is an improvement from running.

The SmallJon offers her his hand, Sansa climbing atop the horse’s back. It had been _so long_ since she rode, since she had any sort of freedom. It is now that she feels herself finally get hopeful, finally accept that this was real and there were no hidden Lannister tricks anywhere to be found. As her steed kicks off into a gallop to follow along the others, a breath of relief is exhaled.

King’s Landing disappeared into the foreground, and with it so did the Sansa Stark of **_old._** The fake niceties to her own captors, the false loyalties, feigned ignorance. No longer did she have to pretend. That Sansa Stark was gone forever, now riding home was the authentic version of herself that she could finally be.


	2. Reunion of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's arrival at the war camp provides her with both emotional reunions, and much needed information. She takes this opportunity to offer all she knows, and learn everything that has been going on since she left Winterfell several years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for the kind response to chapter 1!! I enjoyed seeing the feedback and hopefully can provide you all with some more content you enjoy :)
> 
> This chapter sets the plot up quite a bit. I know there's minimal Theon/Sansa, which is what you all signed up for, but I hope this still gets you excited for the future chapters (which will contain our ship, I swear it!). So for now, please enjoy this Stark sibling chapter.

They rode through the remainder of the night.

It wasn’t until the sun began to peak through the black of the sky that Sansa realized how long they were riding. Her mind had been so preoccupied, going over every possible scenario and outcome to this risky escape. That was the thing with her mind lately, always running over every angle, always preparing herself to be ahead of the curve, ahead of the ball drop. Her whole life had transformed into waiting for _one inevitable tragedy after the next_. Her sharpest tool was her mind, Sansa now using it to defend herself and prevent calamity whenever she might be able to.

Shallow conversation carried them through the ride, nothing of substance, nothing to give her insight on how this getaway was so successful. It was for the best, though, seeing as excess noise would alert anyone in the area of their presence, and the accent of the North would _most certainl_ y give away their allegiance.

It was when the purple and pink of twilight illuminated the war tents on the horizon that she truly knew she was free. Excitement bubbles within her, spreading throughout her body as if her chest were a dam that collapses and emotion and optimism flooded her system. It brings about eagerness, pushing her steed forward despite the aches between her thighs from riding all night.

Flags decorated the camp, her house sigil flown high in the air, material fluid in the wind. The North was **here,** they demonstrated pride despite their proximity to King’s Landing. Perhaps it was foolish, or perhaps it was just the right amount of bold. The rumors of the North’s strength, particularly her brother’s, filled the busy mouths of court. _The Young Wolf_ , they called him. Some even believed he could turn into a wolf himself. While Sansa knew better, part of her couldn’t help but feed into the gossip, let others think nothing but the strength of her brother.

People were busy around the camp, it seems as if they were beginning to start their day, expecting the return of their King to go seamlessly. It is upon their entrance into the war camp that people finally stop in their tracks, look up in wonder at the Northern Princess who had _finally returned home_. The amount of eyes on her seem to burn, though this was a sensation she had grown used to. Joffrey had her beaten and embarrassed, feeling her lowest of lows, with all eyes piercing holes into her flesh - and while this felt overwhelming, _it wasn’t the same_. **Nothing would be quite like that** , this at least, was a welcomed change.

Robb rushes off his horse to assist her, Sansa taking her brother’s hand to lower herself to the ground. It is the first time she can truly see him, the bright light of the new day beginning to highlight all that separated Robb Stark, _future Lord of Winterfell,_ from Robb Stark, _King in the North_. It is the first moment the two separated siblings look at one another, finally able to have the reunion they were prevented from having in efforts of a quick and easy escape. Though before that could happen, the arms of her mother find her, embracing her in a grip that could easily crush every bone in her body, should she please. There’s nothing like the warm hold of a mother, Sansa finds herself so easily melting into it, tensions escaping her body as she feels protected and loved for the first time in nearly three years.

_She can’t help but cry._

Happy tears escape her, washing away any dirt that collected on pale cheeks throughout the night. It is when her mother finally pulls away, her own tears falling, that she speaks. “Sansa, look at you, my sweet girl.” Her mother whispers, hands coming to cup her cheeks and brush away any tears with her thumb. “You have been so strong.” Hearing these words causes an overflowing heart to burst. Tears stream more freely now, her strength finally being recognized. No more weak Sansa, no more feigning ignorance or indifference. It took strength to be seen as weak in the face of her enemies, to pretend to be on their side, to be nothing but a foolish girl who sang the praises of her _‘beloved’_ Joffrey. Her mother was right - **she was strong.**

Mother and daughter hold on to one another tightly, embrace saying everything their words cannot. They remained silent, aside from the occasional sniffle, enjoying this moment, finally back together.

* * *

After their reunion, Catelyn takes Sansa to her tent, she bathes her, feeds her, dresses her - and lastly, brushes out her hair like she did all those years ago. It almost didn’t feel real having her mother back by her side, the easy conversation, the feel of the brush gently raking through her hair. It was such a natural feeling, it almost erased the time they had spent apart.

**_Almost._ **

There was a part of Sansa that withheld some aspects of her experience at King’s Landing. This is for no reason other than to spare her mother the heart ache. She had made it abundantly clear it was terrible, she indicated she was a glorified hostage, a bird trapped in its cage, _unable to ever set flight._ She lied daily, constantly, saying anything that would keep her in Joffrey or the Lannisters’ good graces. Her mother knew all of that, though her mother would never know specifics. **_At least not yet_**. She feared it would kill Catelyn to know Sansa was forced to stare upon her father’s severed head, that she was stripped and beaten to the floor in front of the entire court every time Robb had won a battle. There was no use in torturing her, she already seethed with anger over what she did know. 

It had taken some time before Catelyn let Sansa out of her sight, Sansa’s insistence that she needed a walk around the camps to get some air being her source of freedom. Though truthfully, she was looking for Robb. She wanted to thank him and the others for their rescue, and maybe even talk to him about the logistics. _Why now? What changed that now was the ideal moment? How was this rescue even possible to begin with?_ The Red Keep is perhaps one of the heaviest guarded buildings on the continent, yet here they are. It is these questions that bring her to his tent, Sansa peeking in to see if she could have a moment with her brother. 

“Come on in,” Robb greets her from the opposite side, surrounded by Dacey, the SmallJon, Theon, as well as some of the other Northern Lords. “I was wondering if Mother would ever free you from her grip.” A chuckle follows his words, Robb standing up to meet her across the room. “If you all don’t mind, I’d like a moment with my sister.”

They all get up to leave, doing as their King instructed them to. It was an odd sensation watching Robb lead. His words matched the authority of their father, though his appearance is all their mother. He was the very best of both of them, Sansa believed that wholeheartedly. 

“I actually came to thank you all,” she begins, turning to the group departing. “You all risked your lives to save me.. It is a debt I’m not sure I could ever repay.” 

There’s truth to her words, she wasn’t sure how to properly thank one for this situation. Coin? Honor? Perhaps this is something her brother has already handled, though the fact that Dacey and the SmallJon wave her off as if it’s nothing proves to her everything she needed to know. They valued their King, they’d lay their life down willingly for their King and his family. That says volumes about Robb, something that Joffrey’s own inner-circle wouldn’t dare. 

Robb was a good king. 

“Consider us even now,” Theon’s voice begins. “My way of making it up to you for that time we used your doll for target practice when you were six.” 

Sansa rolls her eyes at him, though there’s no ill will behind this gesture. She never had much patience for his antics as a child, and it seems he brought them into adulthood with him. Growing up, Theon seemed to always be around, seemed to always be in Robb’s shadows, and if he wasn’t lurking, he was mocking her mercilessly. She didn’t particularly take to him the way her brother had, besides, she had always heard her parents say to never trust a Greyjoy. 

If her poor doll was proof of anything, it was that they were apparently right. 

_“In my defense_ , it **wasn’t** my idea.” Robb replies, turning away from the exit of the tent to face her. “You left the doll out, Theon suggested it, Jon and I went along with it.” 

Sansa shakes her head, unable to conceal the laugh she was fighting. How little it seemed to matter now, though all those years ago it would’ve been enough for her to throw a fit. She truly was a brat, and it was all the time away in the South that she realized how terrible she had been. Her solitude and desperation even had her missing Jon, their bastard brother. The one who received the brunt of her false convictions. Though she cannot take back these past actions, and it was useless. Last she heard he was beyond The Wall. 

“Of course you did,” she laughs. “Theon and Jon probably pretended it was me they were aiming at.” 

Robb laughs in return, walking across the room towards the table and chairs they were all sitting around prior to her arrival. His hand motions her to join him, so she follows not too far behind, taking the seat across the way. 

_“Knowing you_ , you must have questions.” Her brother looks to her, though his eyes return to the mugs of ale he was pouring for them. He slides one over to Sansa, taking a sip for himself. “I’m an open book, Sans, ask away.” 

“Alright, well, _for starters_ , how did you even get into King’s Landing without being detected?” Her hands bring the mug to her mouth, though as soon as the bitter ale touches her lips, Sansa’s face scrunches up in disgust. Northern ale was far grosser than any of the sweet wines Cersei had forced her to drink. She attempts to cough to clear the taste from her tongue, only eliciting a laugh from her brother in return. 

“Roose Bolton.” He replies. 

_ “Roose Bolton?”  _

“Aye.” Robb says, pausing before he continued. It was almost as if he wasn’t sure how much he should burden her with, but continues anyway. “We caught him corresponding with Tywin Lannister. Apparently they’ve been exchanging letters for some time now.”

“So he betrayed _you_? Betrayed the _North_?”

“He did.” Robb watches her for a moment, perhaps trying to read her reaction. “Roose was willing to betray us in efforts to be named Warden of the North. No plans were set in ink, though if we hadn’t discovered him soon, we might be having a different conversation right now.” 

“I never trusted him,” Sansa frowns, “Whenever he’d come to speak with Father he had such a way about him that just left me unsettled.” 

“You and everyone else.” Robb shakes his head, ale to his lips.

“I’m confused though, how does that bring you to me?” 

“Right,” he begins, leaning forward in his seat. “Well, the letters we found revealed a lot of information. For starters, we learned the Lannisters were lying about Arya. We were under the impression she was still at court with you.”

"Arya? No, she wasn’t. I always assumed she escaped. I haven’t seen her since father..” Sansa trails off, talking about her father’s death aloud to Robb making it unbearably real. It is in this moment she realizes she truly doesn’t know where her sister is. A part of her always hoped she had made it home, though how Robb speaks, she could be anywhere. By the grace of the Gods she hopes that she’s alive.

“We didn’t know that. It was a lie to make us think they had two hostages.” Robb shakes his head, almost as if he takes this as a personal failure. “Anyway, the letters also told Roose that Tywin had been sending some of his personal bannerman to King’s Landing. Mentioned some unrest in Flea Bottom. Wanted to secure King’s Landing and Joffrey’s claim before they acted.”

“There is unrest. The common folk, they don’t like Joffrey much.” She would know, she was a victim to one of these bursts of unrest. Her life and honor were almost ripped away from her, The Hound the only reason she was here today. 

“From what I gather, he’s a little shit.” Robb mentions, completely unaware of the flashbacks soaring through Sansa’s mind. When his sister doesn’t elaborate, he takes this as a sign to continue his story. “We camped out here, as far South as we could risk. Rode to the Capital, when we saw Lannister men, we took their gear and snuck in. The rest was rather easy. If there’s a lion slapped across your chest, you’re basically free to do as you please over there.” 

Sansa only nods, she knows first hand it’s true. A Baratheon sat upon the throne (even if rumors say otherwise) and yet everything was decorated with lions or in the red and gold of House Lannister. Robb surely fit in, and no one even batted an eye. 

“So, what of Roose now?” She asks, curiosity caught. 

“Executed for treason.” Robb answers her sternly, eyes portraying the obvious battle he had with this decision, even if his facial expression reads that of a confident King. 

“That was foolish, wasn’t it?” Sansa asks, not meaning to cause a riff, though she feels as if she should provide her brother with her honest advice. 

“And why’s that?” Robb counters, shock upon his face that she would even say something like that. 

“Well, if word gets out, then Tywin stops writing letters. You need Tywin to keep writing, that way we can know what their next move is -”   
  
“That isn’t honorable, I won't win a war based on deceit and trickery. That isn’t playing by the rules of war, Sansa! We just can’t cheat the system like that. Roose Bolton was executed for treason. Tywin should know, and in return know we’re onto him.” Robb interrupts. 

“Your enemy is the one who has no honor, Robb. Colluding with your bannerman? What’s to stop Tywin from approaching someone else? The Lannisters don’t care about honor, not the way Father did, not the way you do. If you wish to compete with your enemy, you need to be five steps ahead of them.” Her tone is forceful, and she corrects herself by avoiding his gaze. It was almost as if she dared to revert back to the girl who feigned ignorance on such topics. But she swore that Sansa was left behind in King’s Landing, she wouldn’t back down from this claim. Perhaps her brother sees her point, or perhaps he’s branded her a liar and cheat. She’s unsure, his silence is deafening. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter now. He’s dead.” He finally states, his tone making it seem as if this was a fact she’d have to just move on from. 

“And what of the Dreadfort?” Sansa asks, wondering if this is her overstepping her boundaries. Though the shift in conversation, even if it is essentially still over the same subject, seems to relieve her brother slightly. 

“That’s a good question. We’re weighing options.” 

His eyes, deep shades of Tully blue that were so much like her own, find hers. Almost like twin pairs meeting. At this moment he decides to trust her, perhaps seek her counsel. They had always been close, they had both been the eldest male and female child in a Noble House. They had felt similar pressures, they had been closest in age amongst the true born children, and their unique bond was proof of it. Perhaps by trusting her, Robb was the one who truly opened the door to the cage that the little bird was trapped inside of. By letting her think for herself, be everything she couldn’t back at court, he was setting the bird free. 

“I have two thoughts on the matter.” He begins, looking to her for her opinion. “Roose has no heirs, just a bastard. I could legitimize the bastard, make him the Lord of the Dreadfort. Hope this decree makes him loyal to our cause.” 

“Didn’t the bastard kill Roose’s true born?” Sansa inquires, remembering this being an issue brought up back home at Winterfell. 

“Rumors claim that’s the case,” Robb answers honestly, knowing this doesn’t make his plan sound any better. Sansa’s souring expression makes him try to justify his idea. “On the off chance it’s true, we deal with it then.” 

“What’s the other thought you’ve had?” She cuts to the chase, not entirely sold on this idea. 

“Well, you might think this one’s mad. Mother certainly did,” he pauses to build suspense, or it’s perhaps to brace himself for Sansa’s reaction. “We grant the Dreadfort to Theon for his loyalty to the Northern claim of independence. If he’s willing to drop all loyalties to the Iron Islands, he will be granted Lordship in an independent North. Perhaps this would even get the Iron Born to fight with us, give us some ships from their fleet.” 

“Theon is the heir to the Iron Islands, Robb.”

“I’m well aware of that, Sansa, he only said it constantly growing up.”

“Why would he give up the Islands for the Dreadfort?” 

“Are you here to cut down all my ideas?” He asks, apparently hurt by her continuous negativity. 

“No! I’m just asking the questions you must consider in these sorts of decisions.” Sansa backs down slightly, knowing her brother was one to act on emotion, not necessarily anything else. Perhaps she too would’ve been the same, but the experiences she had gone through had ruined that for her. Everything had to be calculated, thought about in every direction. Everything you say or do could be used against you. There was a consequence of every action, and her goal had been to make it the least detrimental as possible. Perhaps this was now a permanent defense mechanism she had taken as a stolen souvenir from court, but it was probably one that would help them out most. 

“They’re good, Robb. Truly. I just think we need to view them as foundational ideas. Something we can build upon. Every action must be impenetrable by enemies.” This was her attempt at making things right, not wanting him to be hurt or angry with her. To accuse her of overstepping or anything else of that nature. 

“You’re right.” Robb finally says, rising from his seat. He walks over to her, studying her the entire time. It is now that he realizes the Sansa he has brought home differs so greatly from the Sansa he hugged goodbye at the gates of Winterfell, snowflakes in both their hair. 

She too stands, now right in front of him. The two siblings hug, the first time since their reunion. The embrace fills the awkward end of the disagreement, perhaps it’s a silent way of accepting to work together, to trust one another. Sansa intended to help in any way she could. After all, she had lived with the enemy for years, if anyone knows them, it’s her. 

Robb pulls away, looking down at her with a smile. “Come, let us sup. We have an early day tomorrow, as we’re moving camp towards Riverrun.”


	3. A Feast of Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A truce is made, though it's not in the War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, I was half asleep writing a good chunk of it, but I'm also pretty sure I couldn't come up with anything better (does that make any sense? lmao). But anyway, I hope you guys at least enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Also, timelines are a bit wonky. Timelines are, after all, a writer's downfall. But I'm going to go with it being close to two years since Ned/Sansa/Arya went to KL, and once more reminding you all that I'm going with show ages for the sake of aging up/down. 
> 
> Reminder, Sansa is about 15. Theon is about 18. Robb is about 18. 
> 
> Thanks once again for the nice feedback! Enjoy :)

They rode through the entire day. It wasn’t until the sun began to set and their stomachs cried out in hunger that they set up their next camp. Sansa heard mention of it being somewhere near the Stoney Sept, seeing as there were efforts to distance themselves from Harrenhal as much as possible. Apparently Tywin Lannister’s armies had been occupying the castle.

Sansa had come to learn that war was a _terrible, tricky beast_. It was more than the bloody battles and displays of strength - it was all mind games, tricks up sleeves and just as much as a clash of wits as it was a clash of swords. Men called the shots, though to her, this was the _gravest_ mistake of them all. Perhaps a man could lay the way on the battlefield, but politics seemed like a game _perfectl_ y crafted for women. She had every intention of playing this game, of helping her brother secure Northern independence, and to free them of the claws of the Lannisters once and for all.

It seemed Robb had taken her counsel to heart. After they supped the night before, the pair of them had spoken to their mother about it, Catelyn too feeling that while these were foundational steps, they mustn’t be the only roads traveled. Roose’s bastard was a risk, and while Theon perhaps didn’t pose the same risks as the bastard, he posed risks all the same. The issue was sidelined, _for now_ \- as they used that time to mostly catch up on the past two years.

Robb had been promised to someone - a daughter of Walder Frey’s choosing. It was all in efforts to win this war. She, _of course_ , understood this, though she couldn’t shake the feeling of **dread** in worrying that she could be married off too, all in the names of coming to the Northern cause. Sansa had enough of blind matches for a lifetime. It is then that her mind dares to wander to Joffrey, to what must be going on in King’s Landing upon her unforeseen departure. _Surely there’s fury_ , he’ll have her head the next time he sees her. _Or Robb would give her his._ She thinks back to the day Joffrey forced her to stare down her father’s own severed head, threatening her that Robb’s would be next. In a fit of impulsivity, _something she has worked hard on flattening since that day,_ Sansa threatens Joffrey that Robb would give her his head instead. This outcome is more likely now than ever before.

**_Funny, how things work out, isn’t it?_ **

Due to the riding on horseback the past few days, her thighs ached beyond belief. The skin had grown raw, entirely sensitive to the touch. Walking was far too painful, the skin to skin contact of her thighs unbearable. So she sits in the center of the camp around the blazing fire, watching as men erect tents and security posts, making their home for the next few days or so. How awful it must be, living life out of a bag, never knowing where your next bed to rest in would be. Unsure when battle would come calling, if you’d ever even make it out alive.

This was her new life, a life of uncertainty. Nothing was quite set in stone, nothing except for whatever cruel fate she may meet out here is far better than anything that was waiting for her down South. Mother told her that her ventures with the army would be short lived - once they had made it to Riverrun, Catelyn would have a small trusted guard return Sansa to Winterfell. According to her Lady mother, Bran and Rickon needed her, and Sansa could provide to them the _closest thing_ to a mother during all of this. She agreed. Winterfell sounded like a gift from the Gods right about now.

“ _Princess Sansa_ ,” A voice bellows out into the bitter air, breaking her concentration. “ _You know_ , there’s a younger, much yippier, version of you out there somewhere squealing at the thought.”

“And here I was thinking we’d be getting a fresh start, _Theon_.” Sansa turns around to look at him, emphasis on his name as a semi-amused expression works its way onto her face. She eyes him momentarily, her lack of annoyance apparently being seen as an invitation, resulting in him coming to sit beside her. She doesn’t mind, though. Not entirely. _She could use a bit of company._

“Fresh start? We couldn’t have you forgetting how _charming and handso_ -”

“ _And annoying and irritating and_ \- should I go on?”

“Probably not, no.” He laughs, offering her what was in his hand. Theon had two bowls of soup, one for himself, and apparently one for her. “Figured you’d be hungry, this is the best we could do right now, but you grow used to it.”

“-- Thank you.” There’s hesitation before she speaks, unsure of why she was receiving this nice act from him. Friendship was never their thing, Sansa had made sure of that. Her indifference to him as a child bordered coldness, and while he was not on the receiving end of her cruelty like Jon, she wouldn’t say she was the kindest to Theon either. Besides, he didn’t handle it the way her half-brother would, Theon didn’t take it - _he gave it back to her._ She could recall some teasing that had turned into intense arguments as a young girl, Sansa always tried to avoid it, as it upset Robb whenever it did happen.

“The nights we set up camp we don’t really make a big fuss about supper. Your brother does whatever it is that Kings do, so everyone is just on their own, no need to feast if the King won’t be present.” Theon explains, spoon swirling in his soup aimlessly as he spoke.

“So you took it upon yourself to make sure I was tended to?” Sansa inquires, brow raised out of curiosity as she questions him.

“Why are you so surprised?” Theon asks, mocking hurt. Though soon his expression returns to normal, a shrug of his shoulders as he brings the soup to his mouth. “Robb _may_ have asked for me to keep an eye on you tonight.”

“ _Ah, there it is_. Now that is something I’ll believe.” Her head shakes, a slight smile appearing. Though it vanishes as she goes to blow on the soup, cooling it down to avoid burning her lips. Once she swallows, she looks to Theon once more. “You don’t need to waste your time shadowing me, I’m sure there’s plenty of other things you’d rather do. I’ll be fine, but thank you.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short, Sansa. You’re not the _worst_ company in the world. You sure beat out old Rickard Karstark.” He thinks he’s funny, at least. An amused snort leaves his mouth as he continues eating his soup.

“ _That’s Princess Sansa, to you, Theon_.” She snaps, though her words are a **joke**. Blue eyes watch as Theon isn’t sure whether to correct himself, or mock her for caring about her newest title. Sansa knows that if he was declared anything, the title would be shoved down everyone’s throat, that was how the Sansa of old had been, too. Perhaps that’s why there’s hesitation in his expression, only causing her to laugh aloud at his confusion. Theon looks almost surprised she had done such a move on him. He laughs, though looks incredulously at her, almost as if he was speaking with a stranger, and not someone he had grown up with.

“ _You’ve changed, Sansa Stark_.” He shakes his head, and she can tell that by the look on his face, he knows it wasn’t the natural evolution of a person that brought about this sudden shift in her behavior, it was survival. Perhaps, in a sense, he understood to a degree. For he had been a ward in her home, and while her family had never treated him the way the Lannisters had her, a child in a home hundreds of miles away from their own does what they must to survive.

“ _We all have, Theon Greyjoy_.” His name is said with the same tone he uses on hers, almost as if she’s mocking him once more. It’s nice, for a moment she forgets everything that has happened, and she’s transported back to Winterfell, bickering with him and her siblings as they all felt it was best to shoot arrows instead of playing the games she liked. Though this thought doesn’t last long, and she’s left staring at her reality before her. “Thank you, again. For helping Robb to rescue me.” Her eyes peer up to look at him, though he’s already dismissing it.

“Like I said, consider us even.” Theon looks amused, though when he sees the seriousness of Sansa's expression, he adjusts to mirror her. “I’m not really sure what it was like there for you, but from what I’ve heard about that shit, Joffrey, I can’t imagine it was great.”

Her eyes look away, she refuses to meet his own pair. This was not the conversation she expected to be having with Theon, and truthfully, it’s not one she ever plans on having with him. Sansa fiddles with her spoon, buying time to think of how to react. It almost makes her feel like she’s back South, pretending to be fine when she really wasn’t. But perhaps that was just part of her now - feigning satisfaction in a world that’s given her anything but.

“It was no Winterfell.” She finally wills herself to look at him for a moment, then goes back to her soup. Her tone is frigid, almost as if it indicates the _end_ of this conversation.

The air between them shifts to an **uncomfortable silence** , Theon squirming slightly as he realizes he probably brought up a touchy subject. His sensitivity apparently hadn’t improved, though overall she found him more bearable than before she left home. _There’s victory in the small things._

“How’s the camp suiting you?” He finally asks, trying to change the subject. Sansa notices he doesn’t apologize for the mention of Joffrey, if anything he offers her away _around it_ by changing the subject, she jumps at the chance.

“It’s certainly not suited for me, I’m not quite sure how my mother bears to stay so long. I look forward to returning to Winterfell soon.” Sansa was being perfectly honest. The warmth of home called to her like a siren.

“Yeah, this life isn’t for everyone.”

“Is it for you?”

“ _Me_?” He asks, almost taken aback. She’s surprised this question throws him as much as it does. Sansa can sense the internal conflict, knowing that deep down Theon was a man that preferred the luxuries. A castle, a brothel or two, enough ale and lavish meals to fuel him, and a chance for a hunt. War wasn’t his scene, though she knows he does everything to present himself as the type. “ _I think_ it suits me.”

Sansa laughs, shaking her head.

“What’s so funny?” Theon questions, as if there was some joke he didn’t get.

“You’re predictable.”

“How am I predictable?”

“We both know that you’d prefer to be back in Winterfell, riding into Winter Town to find _whatever_ brothel suits your fancy for the night. You return back to your room with a hearty glass of ale, then go shooting the next day, _perhaps catch a boar_ , brag to _anyone in earshot_ about how it was massive and _nearly took your party out_ , but you had the winning shot, saving the day _as the hero you are_.” Sansa offers him an all knowing look, waiting for his retort.

“Aye, _that does_ sound pretty great.” He shakes his head at her, expression a blend of impressed and annoyed. She’s unsure which he’ll settle on. “You think you have it all figured out, don’t you? I _almost_ forgot what an unbearable know-it-all you are.” Though his words are matched with a smile, the edge taken off the insult by this.

“It’s one of my many talents.”

“I guess to answer your question more accurately, _I don’t hate it here_ , but I’d _much rather_ the fantasy you’ve created for me.” He wiggles his eyebrows obnoxiously, finishing off his soup.

“Most men would.” She’s amused.

“Well, what man would turn down a good time with a beautiful woman?”

“And I _almost_ forgot how unbearably disgusting you are.” Sansa replies with an eyeroll, using his own words against him now.

“ _It’s one of my many talents._ ” He caught on, using her own words, as well. There’s a _shit-eating smirk_ on his face, and she wishes to knock it off of him, though she suppresses the urge to fling her spoon at him.

“Perhaps we haven’t changed as much as we thought.” Sansa laughs, knowing this to be false. _She had changed_ , the person she had become was different, steeled - hardened. Theon has changed too, she’s sure, though perhaps not in an as obvious a way.

“I think we have. _For starters_ , you’re still here talking to me, aren’t you? Three years ago you would’ve bolted as soon as I sat beside you, and if you hadn’t, you would’ve after two minutes of conversation.”

“Sometimes our conversations lasted longer,” She defends.

“Yeah, if we got into an argument.” Theon laughs, and Sansa too laughs.

The memories are welcomed compared to everything else her mind dares to ponder these days. Sansa studies him for a moment, though she’s quite open about it. Perhaps this time around, her and Theon could find an _understanding_ of sorts. He wasn’t _as bad_ as she recalled, and her absence had definitely made her miss the things and people at home she once had written off. The fact that she bothered to miss Jon, was proof enough of that. This time away had been a much needed wake-up call, and she’s determined to do better this go around.

“ _Truce?_ ” She asks, offering a hand to him. Theon looks surprised, then he smirks, offering his hand to her in return.

“Truce.” He withdraws his hand after a moment. “ _I may be your dearest friend at the end of this_.” Theon’s teasing her now, though she effortlessly falls into this pattern with him.

“I’m not holding my breath.” She retorts, watching as he feigns hurt by her words.

“You wound me, _Princess_.” He laughs, holding his stomach as if her words are a sword piercing through flesh. “Hell of a way to start a truce.”

“You’ve got me there.” Sansa says, now rising from her seat. “I think it’s time for me to turn in for the evening. My bed is calling to me.” _Or well, the closest she could get to a bed._

“I’ll walk you. That’s what _best friends_ are for, right?” He puts an emphasis on the word best friend, trying to get her to snap.

“You’re beginning to make me regret this truce, Theon.”

“That’s not very _best friend like_ of you, Sansa.”

“That’s the point.” She turns to face him as they walk. “You must be very bored.”

“Painfully bored.” He replies, clearly using his boredom as a means to get under her skin.

“It’s obvious.” There’s a slight chuckle with her words, feet approaching her tent that is shared with her mother. “But with that, I will say goodnight, Theon.”

“Goodnight, Sansa.” He turns to walk away, though her voice stops him.

“Thank you.” She calls out, Theon turning to face her.

“For what?”

“Supper. Company… _a bit of normalcy_.” Sansa smiles slightly, tone soft.

“Oh _,_ _right_. My pleasure.” He returns her smile.

Theon turns on his heel, heading back into the camp, and Sansa into the tent. Even if it was for a small while, a bit of normalcy had returned for both of them. In a world of chaos and war, reverting back to the taunting and teasing of childhood was able to transport them back to a _simpler time_ , a time that none of them had realized would be the best of their lives. Surely things can only continue to grow more chaotic as this war rages on.

_**And it would.** _


	4. A Rejected Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb's ideas are beginning to grow out of Sansa's comfort zone, and Theon is unintentionally haunting her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to dedicate this chapter to my good friend SelkieWife! Thank you for your support and constant Theonsa enabling ;). Couldn't ask for a better ship partner!! This chapter actually stemmed from an idea you put in the comments! So thanks for the inspo :)
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

Days began bleeding into one another, as if it were all just a blur. It was hard to believe it had been several weeks since she had reunited with her family. Sansa’s mornings began the same, and her evenings concluded the same. The only benefit was there was a bit of variation during her days. Robb had been bringing her to meetings, letting her hear everything, allowing her to feel as if she was a part of the war effort. Sansa never said too much in front of the Northern Lords and Ladies, though she often offered Robb her counsel in private, away from prying eyes. She respected her King, enough to know not to question him in front of his people. 

She stumbled from her bed towards the center of the tent, looking through the outfits her mother had left out for her. Sansa didn’t have many dresses here, and she was growing taller than her Lady mother at this point, so they had to make due with what they had, stitching and sewing to make her some new gowns.  _ You’re a Princess now _ , Catelyn would say,  _ even though it’s war, you’re still to present well for your brother.  _

Blue eyes look at her appearance in the mirror, a smile daring to blossom on her face. The Sansa who left Winterfell was no longer visible, though the cause for her smile is that the Sansa of King’s Landing had seemed to disappear as well. She was left with a new version of herself, though this one’s skin wasn’t decorated in bruises, there were no bags and discolorations beneath her eyes from sleepless nights. Princess Sansa Stark of the North stood before her, reflection showing a girl almost ten and six, growing stronger and more beautiful as the days progressed. Her hands come to flatten her dress as she does a slight twirl in the mirror, and upon satisfaction of her appearance, she leaves her tent. 

Grey Wind had been outside waiting for her, as he so often did. Sansa crouches to give the direwolf a caress on his fur, then a soft pat atop his head. The first time she had seen her brother’s pet, she felt herself go numb. Grey Wind had grown so large, and it ached her to know her beloved Lady would never get that chance. For so long she had blamed her father for Lady’s death, though the real culprits were right in front of her face - Joffrey and Cersei. It made her sick to think how she pledged her loyalty to them, yet they cared little for her. Grey Wind seemed to sense Lady’s death, it was as if he knew his sister would never be returning. Perhaps this is why he followed so closely behind Sansa when he wasn’t with Robb, perhaps he would protect Robb’s sister to make up for not being able to protect his own. 

The human and direwolf pair had made their way to Robb’s tent, almost as if Grey Wind personally delivered her to Robb. Sansa leans down once more to pet him, though is interrupted by a voice that has been growing to haunt her at camp. 

“Good morning, Princess.” Theon greets her, standing beside Grey Wind at the front of Robb’s tent.

“Good morning, my Lord.” She replies, minding the same titles as him. “Will you be breaking your fast with us?”

Most mornings Theon did join them, and Sansa wasn’t entirely sure how her mother felt about this. Though it was obvious Robb enjoyed his best friend’s company, and truth be told, Sansa was really beginning to warm up to Theon. A friendship had definitely been forged, and he often kept her company when her brother or mother weren’t able to. Catelyn seemed to be rather shocked by this, knowing as a girl Sansa had heeded her and Ned’s advice on Theon.  _ Never trust a Greyjoy, _ they warned. As much as Sansa tried to bear this in mind, she quite enjoyed the easy banter of their friendship. Perhaps it might’ve always been this way had she not stuck her nose up at him as a child.

“That I will not,” He begins, almost sounding disappointed. Almost. “Robb asked me to go over some inventories with Wendel Manderly.”

“ _Did he?_ ” Sansa asks, unsure why it would be Theon of all people doing such tedious work. Theon was not the sort to take particular care or notice to inventory. Lord Manderly made perfect sense, there was a reason White Harbor was so wealthy, good book-keeping surely helped with the maintenance of finances in the city. But Theon? That made no sense. 

_ Perhaps Robb had wanted to discuss something in private.  _

“Aye, I’m just as confused as you are, _but as my King commands of me_.” The words at the end of his sentence end in a sort of sing song, clearly playing around. He reaches down to give Grey Wind a pat on the back, beginning to walk off in the other direction. 

Sansa chuckles and shakes her head, preparing to enter her brother’s quarters, though Theon yells to her once more. 

“Don’t miss me too much!” He teases, shouting as he turns toward the Manderly tent. 

“You would have to leave me alone first in order for me to even attempt to!” She shouts back, a roll of her eyes. There’s an amused grin on her face, though it shrinks the moment she steps into the tent, mother and brother’s eyes on her with a serious expression. 

“Who were you speaking with?” Catelyn inquires, though her tone is nothing but that of innocent curiosities. 

"Theon,” Sansa replies, though her eyes go to Robb. “Which begins my question to you. Theon in charge of inventories? We both know that’s an ill match. Surely Lord Manderly can manage on his own.” 

“There isn’t a worse match to be found,” Robb agrees, the comment tickling him, a smile curving at the corners of his mouth. “I needed to send him to do something though, there’s something the three of us must discuss.” 

A servant watches as Sansa takes her seat, noting it is time to bring the King and his family their meal. She rushes over some toast and beans, as well as some sliced meats and freshly squeezed juices. It was nothing of the meals Sansa had in the South, even some of the feasts at Winterfell, but it was definitely better than most mornings in the camp. 

“You may leave us Greta, thank you.” Robb addresses her, the young servant girl bowing to her King and exiting the tent. 

“Alright Robb, out with it. Your sister is here, I see no reason to wait.” Catelyn urges, watching as her son is busy with a fork and not his words. Her patience was clearly being tested, and it seemed that Sansa had perhaps kept her waiting longer than she had liked. 

“Well, I’ve given some more thought to the subject of the Dreadfort.” 

Sansa and her mother remain silent, not yet commenting until Robb continues. Her brother, however, doesn’t realize this, and watches them expectantly. When there is no reply, he continues on.

“Right, well, I think our better option would be to give it to Theon.” Now he knows he’ll get a response, seeing as the fork is in his mouth with food. 

“I still think we need to think of a third option. Perhaps grant it to a low Lord in the Riverlands for their loyalty.” Catelyn states, not completely sold on Robb’s suggestion. 

Sansa notices Robb looking at her, almost as if he is trying to use her new friendship with Theon to win this argument against their mother. It almost made her uncomfortable to be in the middle of this one, though she tries to ignore this feeling. 

“How do you trust Theon would remain loyal to the Northern cause when this is all over? Why would he reject his titles as Lord and heir of the Iron Islands for the Dreadfort? It isn’t as if you’re promising him White Harbor, Robb, _it’s the Dreadfort._ ” Sansa points out, trying to make her brother process things as she did. He needed to run every possible scenario out, the good, the bad, the really ugly. It would protect him in the long run.

“It’s Pyke, Sansa. That’s a sack of shit as well.” Robb retorts, though he notices his mother’s glare upon the swear, clearing his throat. “ _Pardon._ ” 

“That it may be, Robb, but he will still be Lord of one of the Seven Kingdoms, not some **_cursed_** fortress.” Sansa feels her mother’s eyes on her, and she fears that the look behind them is disapproval. She spares a glance in that direction, and instead sees the opposite. Catelyn is beaming at her daughter, though in such a discrete matter as to not offend her son, that only Sansa can pick up on this. 

“What say you, Mother?” Robb turns to her expectantly, almost surprised she hadn’t chimed in sooner. 

“Sansa’s right, Robb. I’m not sure the Dreadfort is enough to make Theon Greyjoy reject his claim to the Salt Chair.” Catelyn shakes her head. “I know he is your friend, Robb, but we can think of others to fill the vacancy.”

Robb grins, and suddenly Sansa is more confused than she was to begin with. She watches over him from her goblet of juice, placing it down when she suspects he’s about to lay some sort of golden idea on them.

“I assumed you’d both say that, so I thought about it some more.” He looks to Sansa for approval, she had been hammering it into his head to think about every decision and then about ten different consequences that could stem from it. She nods with an amused smile, Robb taking that as a signal to continue. “What if we bound him to the North?”

“How would you do such a thing?” Catelyn asks, her interest clearly caught.

“Marriage.” Robb replies, almost as if it were obvious to begin with.

Sansa’s mind races. Who could Robb betroth Theon to? Of the noble houses, her mind can only think of Alys Karstark or Dacey Mormont, seeing as Dacey’s sister, Lyanna, was far too young. While the Karstarks and Mormonts were noble, their Northern ties still weren't strong enough to keep Theon in the North, it wouldn’t be much for him to take them to the Iron Islands as his Lady. Robb’s idea doesn’t add up to her. 

“And what _poor girl_ would you be burdening with Theon?” She asks, though her tone is half a joke. Robb’s eyes meet her own, such a similar shade of blue to her own, and suddenly she realizes what he intends, _and things aren’t so funny anymore._

Catelyn watches the interaction between her two eldest children, not sure what’s being communicated between them. Though when Sansa’s body physically deflates and her skin turns a few shades paler, it seems the pieces have clicked in her mind.

“No, _absolutely not, Robb_. I forbid it.” Catelyn states firmly, eyes lingering on her daughter. “Sansa is **not** to wed a _Greyjoy!_ She is **not** to go to the _Iron Islands_ , or the Dreadfort, or whatever it is you have planned for them.” 

Sansa wants to throw up. Her body seems to be rejecting the idea as if it would reject rotten food. Her stomach is flipping and her head is pounding. The arguing between her mother and brother is background noise, the beating of her heart the loudest thing in her ears at the moment. How could Robb just marry her off like that? She had just returned from a sham betrothal. One where she was beaten and abused and treated like a toy. Robb was ready to use her once more at his disposal? She always knew this day would come again, _but so soon? As a tool for war?_ Her eyes refuse to meet him, though she remains silent. 

“Sansa…” Robb begins, not realizing the impact this would’ve had on her. 

“My daughter is _not_ being sent off to the Iron Islands. I refuse it. Not after everything she’s been through!” Her mother is on a rant, no intention to stop. 

Robb rises from his chair, not giving much thought to his mother as he walks over to Sansa. Kneeling before her, he forces their eyes to meet. Sansa fights the urge to look away, her sight is locked on him. 

“Nothing is final, Sansa. I won’t propose anything you are so adamantly opposed to.” He begins, and this wins her back over slightly, Sansa’s body loosening up from the tension it held. “I would never have you sent off to the Iron Islands. You would remain North.” 

At this point, Sansa wanted to return to Winterfell and never leave. She knew it was unlikely, it was her duty as a high born lady to wed and produce heirs, even more so now that she was the King’s sister. Sansa knew the time would come, but to Theon? While he may have just won her friendship over, there was no chance that she would ever want to marry Theon Greyjoy. The fact that Robb even thought that was disappointing enough. 

“There is no guarantee of that if you wed me to him.” She replies, tone on the cooler side. 

“Aye, _but as my heir_ , you should remain North. Especially with a King who is in battle as much as myself.” Robb states, as if what he’s just announced is no big deal.

“Heir? You’re just going to remove Bran and Rickon from the line of succession?” Catelyn asks, almost shocked her son would consider such a thing.

“For the time being, _yes_.” He counters, standing up now. “Bran and Rickon are children, they know nothing of war and its implications. Sansa was South, she knows how these Southroners think. She’s seen the war camps, battle strategies, she’s sat in on the meetings. When Bran and Rickon are of age, we can reassess, but for now I’m naming Sansa my heir.” 

“And that’s how you get Theon to drop his claims? With the promise of potentially being wed to the Queen in the North.” Sansa asks, still rattled from the proposal. 

The whole ordeal has been swinging her emotions back and forth, unsure how she feels now that she’s apparently the heiress of the North. She was far too numb to give the reaction Robb might’ve expected. She didn’t wish to be heir, Sansa wanted her brother to live and to be King. 

“Aye, that was my thought. Perhaps with him potentially ruling the North old Balon would be more likely to send some ships. Have a son King, and an independent Iron Islands to sweeten the deal.” Robb admits.

“Well, it’s foolish. You’re not dying, Robb. I’m not agreeing to a marriage on the off chance of your death, I will not even entertain that sort of idea.” Sansa states adamantly.

Catelyn looks between her two children, this whole conversation a mess. 

“When you live, _which you will_ , then what of Sansa and Theon?” Their mother entertains him. 

“I will name her my hand, she will remain North with me.” 

Sansa shakes her head. This is all too much right now, her hands come to cradle her head, elbows atop the table in a very unlady like matter as she attempts to calm herself down. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Grace…. Princess Sansa, Lady Stark.” 

_Ironically enough_ , it is Theon’s voice who draws the Starks out of their thoughts of him. They all offer him a glance that is probably very confusing, though he remains composed. If Catelyn hadn’t been there, Sansa knows the titles and seriousness would’ve been dropped, though it is maintained while the family tries to compose themselves. 

“What is it, Theon?” Robb asks, tone a bit dismissive. 

“The smiths need to speak with you, when taking inventory we noticed shortages of certain materials. They want to discuss the matter with you.”

“I’ll be there in a moment.” Robb looks to his mother and sister, “You have time to think these things over.” He says, walking past Theon at the entrance of his tent to attend to his duties.

The air in the room was still thick with tension, Sansa standing up. Her meal was half touched, though she certainly had no appetite now. 

“I need some air.” She says rushed to her mother, darting out of the tent and past Theon, who was left confused by what he had walked in on. 

She was to be her brother’s heir? His hand? Under normal circumstances she’d be proud, appreciate the respect for her insight Robb has shown. Though the combination of this and the proposal of a betrothal to Theon Greyjoy has her nauseous. Sansa paces the war camp, mind racing and trying to calm herself. 

She would reject it, she would tell Robb no shot. He couldn’t marry her to Theon. Her mother even agreed with her. 

“Are you alright?” 

Sansa sighs, _of course_ it was Theon. He was unintentionally haunting her now. She would never reveal to him what Robb proposed, not only would he turn it into a massive teasing fest, but it would just complicate everything. If Theon was even slightly aware of anything the Starks were planning, things could get sticky. 

“What did I tell you about giving me a chance to miss you?” She chides, tone weak as she’s still forcing herself to act normal. 

“You look ill.” He pointedly ignores her joke, actually concerned for her. “Did something happen?”

“No, just had a sleepless night, the exhaustion is catching up to me.” Liar. Sansa hated how effortless that was. 

“Maybe you should get some rest.”

_ “Maybe.” _

“You’re a shit liar, you know.” Theon teases, though he doesn’t push for the truth, something Sansa is grateful for right now. 

_ “Am not.” _

“You really are.”

She looks at him and pauses. 

“What do you know about the Dreadfort?”

“Isn’t Northern history supposed to be your specialty, not mine?” He asks. 

“Seriously, Theon. I’ll rephrase that, what do you think of the Dreadfort?” 

“I don’t know, never gave it much thought. Creepy old place, isn’t it? Not that Pyke wasn’t. I’ve heard rumors of the men that the Bolton’s flayed haunting the fortress.”

“Right.” Sansa replies, his answer somewhat hopeful. It sounds as if he’d reject lordship over the Dreadfort, meaning there were no reasons for her to marry him. This calms her down slightly. 

“Why?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Did you learn of Roose Bolton’s betrayal this morning? Is that what has you so rattled?”

“Yes, the whole thing is quite unnerving.” Sansa lies, once more. Though this time it is not a complete lie. There had been discussions over the ramifications of Roose Bolton’s decision, and that is close enough. 

“Well, he’s long dead. Robb made sure of that. He can’t do anything now.”

“I know.” Sansa replies, forcing a sort of smile at Theon. “I think I’m going to rest. I’ll see you at supper.” 

She walks with heavy speed away from him, not trying to be blatantly obvious that it was him she was avoiding. Nothing sounded better than a nap and to try to forget, even if it was for a short while, the weight of what had just been put upon her. 


	5. Mystery of the Dreadfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon's determined to get to the bottom of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter I was half asleep for, but I think it's decent. 
> 
> I wanted to post this because I have several finals due by next Tuesday, so this may be the last update until then (though I have minimal self control, so don't hold that as a promise).
> 
> If the chapter is a mess, blame exhaustion, not my writing skills ;)

Things had grown tense between the Starks. Theon wasn’t a fool, he could see it with his own eyes. The second he walked in on them breaking their fast, he knew something was rupturing the family’s typically united front. Robb’s attitude lingered throughout the day, and Sansa had disappeared in such a fit, Theon almost felt as if he personally offended her. Catelyn marched throughout camp extremely on edge, she offered him some questionable glances, expressions he couldn’t make out - but it was enough to make Theon suspicious, to make him wonder if he was behind this family rift. 

It wasn’t any of his damn business. He knew this. He was only the bloody ward, as he had so often been told growing up in Winterfell. But consider him a curious man, one who always wanted to know what was going on. Theon was nosy, and he intended to figure out what was happening beneath his nose.

The camp was preparing to sup, which gave him some down time to try to pry it out of Robb or Sansa. He wouldn’t dare ask Catelyn, he didn’t wish to be reamed a fool in front of the entire Northern army. 

Searching eyes finally land on Sansa, a satisfied grin gliding onto his face. It seemed as if he would be getting what he wanted, after all. Theon’s on a straight mission towards her, feet carrying him with purpose, though a hand soon stops him by restraining him on his chest. 

“Greyjoy,” Lord Glover announces, “Your turn to go give that kingslaying bastard his meal.” His tone reads amused, glad to pass the burden onto someone else. Theon resists the urge to roll his eyes and retort, looking around to pass the torch to another, though he suddenly gets another idea. Rushing past Galbart Glover, he finds himself standing besides Sansa. 

“Feeling any better?” He begins, trying to get in her good graces. Sansa seems startled by him, he watches with amusement as she jumps upon his approach. 

“Somewhat.” She replies, tone still sharing some of the ice it had this morning. 

Theon pauses, watching over her for a moment. Their friendship was unlikely, especially after a childhood of nothing but bantering and cold shoulders. Yet, here he was, trying to cheer her up. But it was all in effort to get this information out of her, or so he’d tell himself. He’d never let his mind consider that he actually cared about Sansa Stark and their newly found friendship as much as he did. 

“Have you seen the Kingslayer since your return?” He questions her. 

“No, I haven’t. Why?” 

“I’m to bring him his supper tonight. Thought you’d like to join me?” Theon acts as if this is such a spectacle. Typically he’d bring the food, say something snarky that he’d never be brave enough to say if Jaime Lannister were outside the bars of his makeshift cell, though with Sansa there, Theon would heed to caution. 

“I’ve dealt with enough Lannisters for a lifetime, I’m sure this lion is no different.” 

“You don’t wish to show him you’ve returned home? Outwitted his sister?”

“Not particularly, no.” Sansa pauses, “Why are you so set on me joining you?” It seems as if suspicion is only growing out of her, and she begins looking at him strangely, almost as if he’s making her nervous. The paleness on her face from this morning returns, and he wonders if she thinks he’s a part of whatever is causing the Starks such distress. Though, it’s not as if he could figure that out, she won’t take a bloody walk with him to the prisoner. 

“Just thought you’d be decent company. I thought wrong, clearly.” 

Her face grows even more ill looking, her eyes hardly meeting him. She quickly walked away, muttering that she’d catch him during the feast. 

Theon’s even more curious now. 

Dammit.

He quickly grabs a batch of slop, not fussing over Jaime Lannister’s plate, and walks over towards the opposite end of camp, frustrations written all over his face. 

It seems Lannister had been expecting him, a cocky smile on his face upon the sight of Theon. Whenever it was his turn to bring him supper, they engaged in some sort of argument. Theon liked to get his digs in, and now that Sansa had come home, there wasn’t as much restraint shown by the Northern Lords to the Kingslayer. Not when Cersei couldn’t use Sansa as leverage anymore. 

Theon slides the plate into the cell, offering his most offensive glare before turning around. He was far too curious to get whatever information out of Robb or Sansa to even pay Lannister the mind he so clearly craved.

“What? No half witted attempt to frighten me? Suppose I shouldn’t expect too much from Ned Stark’s ward in the future.” Jaime begins, looking to clearly instigate trouble.

“Oh fuck off, Lannister. Be grateful the King has shown you some undeserved mercy, perhaps next time we’ll make you eat your shit.” Theon retorts, venom practically spilling out of his words.

“Well, you know what they say about Lannisters and their shit.” Ser Jaime chides, a delighted smile on his face, despite very much not being in the position to be smiling. 

“And we also know what they say about you fucking your sister too. ” Theon replies, trying to hit him where it hurts.

Jaime stands in his cell darting towards the bars, clearly attempting to have a go at Theon. In return the Ironborn begins to pounce at him too, despite the other being locked in a cell. When Theon gets angry, he doesn’t always rationalize his thoughts or his actions, and it may be why he’s balling a fist at a bunch of metal bars. 

“My Lords, enough!” An authoritative voice declares, pulling Theon out of his anger fit. 

Of course, it was Robb. 

“Your grace,” Theon bows, only minding formalities and titles in front of the Kingslayer. He wouldn’t have Robb seen as anything other than a King in front of their enemy. 

“Come, Theon. Let us go to the feast. We can allow the Kingslayer to fantasize about his golden shits all he wants. He’ll have all the time in the world to do that.” A whistle accompanies his words, summoning Grey Wind. The direwolf walks by the cell, eyeing the man inside it with a ferocious glare. The Kingslayer retreated. Robb often used Grey Wind as a means of threatening wrongdoers, Catelyn had warned against it, but the Young King found it entertaining. At times, Theon had to admit, he did too. 

The pair of friends walk towards the center of camp, lingering silence between them. It was obvious to Theon that Robb still wasn’t completely over whatever transpired this morning. So he decides to pry, or at least as much as he can get away with. 

“Everything alright?” Theon asks casually. 

“Is there a reason it shouldn’t be?” Robb asks, eyeing his friend apprehensively. Almost as if he’s waiting for Theon to deliver bad news. 

“No, not that I know about. I just noticed some… tension this morning with Sansa and your Lady mother. That’s all.” Once more, he tries to play off his curiosities in exchange for concern. 

“Differences in opinion.” Robb simply replies, a sigh leaving his mouth. 

“Well, we know your sister is an insufferable know-it-all.” Theon teases, though there is truth to it. Robb shoots him a defensive look, causing Theon to backtrack slightly. “I say this as her friend who cherishes all the wisdom she has to bestow upon my inferior mind.” He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. Robb mirrors his sentiment, causing Theon relief. 

“It’s not a pressing matter, it’ll be sorted soon enough. All will be fine.” The King continues, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself more than Theon. 

“Is Sansa alright? She looked quite ill after your chat.”

“You spoke to her?” Robb questions, looking to him nervously. “What did she say?”

“Uh, I dunno. Something about lack of sleep and finding out about Roose Bolton’s betrayal. Asked me what I thought of the Dreadfort. Idle conversation, nothing of importance.” 

Robb’s eyes linger on him for a moment, almost as if he’s about to say something, but then decides against it. Theon watches him, uncertain if he’s supposed to say or do anything. 

“Sansa told me I shouldn’t have killed Roose Bolton. Should’ve left him alive so we can still collect letters from Tywin Lannister.” His words are rushed, almost as if it’s not the whole truth he’s revealing. While he could see this causing a rift, it didn’t explain why Sansa looked as if she had seen the ghost of Ned Stark himself. 

“You know, what’s so strange about this all,” Theon began, not giving a reaction to Robb’s coverup, “is that it felt as if I had done something to her. She couldn’t even be around me.”

“Well, that’s nothing new.” Robb smiles, trying to lighten the mood, move them on from this topic, though it fails.

“In a different way. Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t losing a head for hurting the feelings of the Princess.” He jests, watching for Robb’s reaction. 

“What did she ask you of the Dreadfort?” Clearly he’s distracted, mind somewhere else. 

“What I thought about it.” Theon replies with a simple shrug. 

“What was your answer?”

“I didn’t know much. Just the rumors it’s haunted.” 

“Aye, those bloody rumors.” Robb replies, seemingly deep in thought.

Clearly there’s some sort of fixation on the Dreadfort. There’s no coincidence to Theon that Robb and Sansa seemed so concerned over the shitty fortress. He just wondered what it could be that they were so fussed about. 

Sansa walks by, the pair of men now inside the feasting tent, Robb glancing at his sister. He offers a look to Theon before returning to Sansa, walking speedily to grab her by the arm. She pulls away quickly, clearly still annoyed by whatever Dreadfort conversation they had this morning, and her expression changes to pure aggravation when she realizes Robb is bringing Theon over with him. He’s not sure what he’s done to her, though it seems dining with him was most unwelcomed. 

To him, that was a challenge. 

“Sansa, why don’t you take Theon to sit with you?” Robb asks, an expectant look towards his sister, one that seems to plead with her slightly. Theon was no one’s pity project, though it certainly felt like that right now as Sansa gives him a look of reluctance, not bold enough to say no aloud. 

“It would be an honor to sup with the Princess.” Theon teases her, extending his arm to loop hers through. Robb seems to approve, and disappears into the crowd. Sansa brings her hand to touch his arm, though it’s faint, barely noticeable. He knows she’s just trying to be polite.

“I’m not very hungry, my company won’t be for too long, I’m afraid.” She announces, as if he was expecting far too much from her. 

“Are you still feeling ill?” 

“It comes and goes.” She replies, and it seems honest. He would give her that. Though he still struggled to understand the source of the tension. 

They approach their table, Theon pulling out her chair for her, as a gentleman should. He tries to avoid the glares Lady Stark is throwing his way, unsure what he has done to offend her so much, instead he focuses on the meal before him. 

__________________________________________________________________

The feast lingered for an hour or so before Sansa attempted to excuse herself. Theon rose from the table, offering to walk her back to her tent. It would be the perfect opportunity to try to figure out this Dreadfort business, and maybe it would lead Lady Stark to show him a bit more warmth tonight. 

“I’ll walk you.”

“Oh, thank you.” Sansa replies in kind, he watches her gaze move to Robb, where her brother is showing her an encouraging smile. Almost as if he was trying to set something up, though Theon couldn’t place it. 

“Hopefully you’re feeling better tomorrow.” He begins, attempting conversation.

“I’m sure I will.” Sansa replies, though her eyes remain straight ahead, never once bothering to take him in. 

“Well that’s good, you weren’t the greatest companion at the feast tonight.” 

“Well, apologies if my behavior when I’m not feeling good isn’t suitable enough for you.” 

“It was a joke, Sansa.”

“Right.” 

“So, the Dreadfort?” Theon questions, figuring he wouldn’t get anything out of her in her current state while playing these mental sparring matches with her like he normally would. 

“What about it?” She asks cautiously.

“I find it no coincidence you and Robb both asked me about it today.”

“Did he?” She asked, slightly concerned. “What did he ask?”

“The same as you.” Theon replies, no emotion in his voice. 

“Did he ask you anything else? About the Iron Islands?”

“No.” Theon says curtly, trying to dismiss all topics of his father at the moment. But now he’s curious what the Iron Islands have anything to do with this. At the moment, the Greyjoys hadn’t declared for anyone, so any Ironborn questions seemed irrelevant. 

Sansa falls silent for a moment.

“How was Jaime Lannister when you went to see him?” She asks, clearly changing the topic. 

“The same as always - an obnoxious waste of space.” He allows her to change it momentarily, though he bounces right back. “Does this weirdness have anything to do with me? I can’t help but feel as though it does.”

“There’s a reason I branded you a narcissist as a child.” Sansa weakly replies. He can tell she’s attempting to uphold their typical banter, but she just doesn’t have it in her. 

“Seriously. You can’t be around me, your mother won’t even look at me… Robb and you asking me about the Dreadfort?”

“It’s not you, it’s other stuff.” Sansa quickly replies, trying to change the subject immediately. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” 

“Fine,” Theon retreats - for now. 

“Thank you.” Sansa smiles, though it is not genuine in the slightest, completely forced. “I just need some time to think about some things, just give me the next few days, Theon. Then I will try to give you an explanation. 

There's a slight victory in this, but for now he will take it gladly. 

“Then I look forward to seeing you in a few days' time.” 

“I’m sure you are, Theon.” Sansa replies, walking into the entrance of her tent. There’s a small smile now, perhaps feeling as if she’s been given a chance to delay a specific conversation with him. “I will say good night.”

“Good night.” He replies, meeting her smile. 

Their eyes lock for a moment, trying to read the mind of the other’s. It just leads to an intense stare, both pulling themselves away instantly upon realization. 

Theon left without what he needed to know, though in a few days time, he hoped to be completely in the loop.


	6. Foolish Fantasies of a Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon now knows the truth, but does this change anything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind feedback!
> 
> Thank you for your patience, I finished my semester so hopefully I'll have more time to write!!
> 
> This chapter is for my boyfriend, who inspired me to write this next chapter in the story after a really crummy week. I'm thankful for his constant support and reading of this fic, despite not shipping theonsa (ik idk how i date him)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!

It had been two days since she last spoke to Theon. Sansa had asked for time, and she must give him credit - that he did give her. In fact, she was rather impressed by the patience he displayed, or at least attempted to. She pretended not to notice the glances thrown her way during meals, how he’d eye her when she walked around the camp. He never dared approach her, though. For that, she must pride him on, though never, ever, to his face.

That morning when she broke her fast with her family, the air seemed lighter. The conversation began to flow much easier between the Starks, and for that she was grateful. A part of her hoped Robb had forgotten about their conversation, that he was so full of regret that he wouldn’t dare mutter the proposition to Sansa again. Hopefully he had found some other Northern Lady to stick Theon onto. He wouldn’t be her problem, not when vows claimed forever. 

“Spies say the lower Lords and farmers around Harrenhal are growing restless with Tywin setting up camp there for so long. Perhaps they’ll take care of that problem for us.” Robb says between bites of his ham. 

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.” Catelyn replies, sipping at her goblet as she read over a letter that had been sent from Winterfell, clearly distracted.

“Everything alright at home, Mother?” Sansa inquires, watching her mother’s expression. 

“Yes, darling, worry not, Maester Luwin was just keeping me informed on your brothers.” A sad smile appears on her lips, though vanishes in an instant. But it is her mother’s eyes that tell more than her words do. “Bran’s riding is getting much better with that contraption they built, and Rickon is getting so big. Apparently he’s been sitting in on meetings with Bran.”  
“Well, we’ll be sure to make Rickon a match where he can use those skills. No use keeping him in Winterfell when he could go somewhere and lead as his own Lord.” Robb adds, though he’s still very focused on the food before him. 

“Let’s dismiss this for now, your brother is only six years old, Robb. Besides, I won’t have you marrying all of my children off just yet.” Catelyn sternly responds, clearly not over the idea Robb presented to them the other morning. 

The tension in Sansa’s chest tightens again, knowing now that the conversation can easily be brought up. Robb’s eyes linger on her, watching her for a moment. It appears as if he’s also contemplating bringing up this subject again, the silence surrounding them making it painfully obvious. 

“So Sans,” He begins, using her childhood nickname. It was almost as if he was trying to butter her up like a biscuit before hitting her with his next sentence. She knew Robb, knew him very well. Sansa could probably speak the exact words he was about to say. He clears his voice looking at her with hesitation. “Have you given any more thought to what we spoke about the other day?” 

“No.” She quickly responds, sharpness in her voice. No use in beating around the bush. Her fork pushes her beans around her plate, clearly avoiding her brother’s eyes right now.

“No? You couldn’t even consider it for a moment?”

“There’s nothing to consider. I’m not doing it.” 

“It’s for the North, Sansa.” His tone begins to slightly plead. 

“The North will do just fine without Theon Greyjoy marrying me.” 

“The Greyjoy Fleet would be a tremendous help, Sansa, and you know that as much as I do.” Robb reaches his hand out to grab hers, trying to build a bridge between them. 

“So, perhaps you should wed Balon Greyjoy then.” She cooly retorts, pulling her hand away. Sansa gets up to walk out of the tent, but her eyes land on someone standing in there with them, unannounced. She pauses in her spot, mouth agape in horror and embarrassment. 

Of course it was Theon. It always was.

“Theon,” Sansa finally breathed, though he wasn’t looking at her. She couldn’t blame him, truthfully. That was her very same initial reaction to this all.

“Is something wrong?” Robb asks, rising from the spot. He’s trying to shift the topic, though he’s desperately failing by the uneasy expression on his face.

“No, uh - you told me to break fast with you,” Theon’s words are more sputtered than anything else, eyes darting between the door and the entrance of the tent. “I - I uh, should’ve knocked. My apologies.” He walks out before anything else can be said, Sansa and Robb both running after him.

It was no use, he was gone. 

* * *

Several hours had passed since the disastrous encounter this morning. Sansa had a pit in her stomach that just couldn’t go away, no matter how hard she tried to shake it. She threw herself into her needlework, into some reading. She even attempted to write a letter home for her brothers, but nothing worked. The feeling of dread within her seemed permanent. 

It was when she decided a walk could do her some good that she noticed Theon sitting alone by the fire, whittling away at some stick that was beginning to resemble a spear. It was now or never, wasn’t it? Sansa walks up to him, hovering slightly, though all in effort to make her presence known.

“Can I join you?” There’s hesitation in her voice, though Theon doesn’t look up at her when she requests this of him. 

“From this day, to the last of my days.” He teases, though his words are slightly colder than normal, intensity the whittling knife was jabbing at the wood picking up. 

“I can’t be that bad, can I?” She attempts to join in with humor, though it’s pretty clear neither of them were entirely into it despite their efforts to be.

“I could ask you the same question.” He had a point there.

“I think it’s very different being forced to marry you, as opposed to being forced to marry me.” A smirk accompanies these words, Sansa playfully nudging her shoulder against his own. 

“You’ve got me there.” Theon sighs, putting his woodwork to the side. He adjusts his position on the bench, shifting to completely face Sansa. “So Robb wants us married, that’s what that was all about?”

“More or less.” She shrugs. 

“But I thought it had to do with the Dreadfort?” He questions her, raising a brow as if he feels she’s withholding something from him.

“Well,” She begins, trailing off. Her arm wraps around her center, hand coming to nervously hold her other arm, a nervous habit. “It was a thought that perhaps…. Robb would reward you the Dreadfort for your loyalties.” 

“Were you another reward then?” Theon asks amused.

“No,” Sansa rolls her eyes. “I was your anchor to the North.”

“Anchor?” 

“I’m Robb’s heir.” Sansa announces, and saying these words aloud for the first time feels strange. Almost as if it suddenly legitimized the claim, which Robb had already had put into writing and sent to Winterfell. 

“He told me.” Theon confesses, though Sansa is relieved it hadn’t been her to reveal this to him.

“Right, well - if the Gods are cruel and take Robb, I would be the..” She doesn’t finish this part, not wanting to speak the possibility of it into existence. “It would make your title better, thus wanting you to abandon all claims to the Iron Islands.” Sansa still thought this was a ridiculous idea, and apparently Theon does too, because he’s chuckling.

“That bloody bastard,” Theon continues to chuckle, shaking his head. “Knows me well. It would’ve worked, as much as I hate to say it.” 

So much for agreement. 

“Seriously? You’d let him wed you to me just for the off chance he’d… we’d…” Yet again, Sansa cannot finish these sentences. 

“Sansa, I could stick it to my dick of a father. I’d be more than he ever was. That’s all I could ever want.” 

“That’s not what this is for, Theon. We’d need your father’s help, his fleet.” 

“You mean the fleet he refuses to give us now? Even when independence has been promised?”

“What do you mean? Robb never told me he negotiated with your father.”

“That’s because he didn’t,” Theon begins. “I did.” 

“You went home?” Sansa asks, eyes glued to him. She never heard this, and now she was desperate for this new information. 

“I wrote him a letter. Robb and I spoke about me possibly taking a trip there, though I decided a letter would’ve been better. Not wasting my time on that old shit.” Theon shakes his head, “Wrote him a letter - and a damn good one too. Said Robb would grant the Iron Islands their independence, all we needed was the fleet and help against the Lannisters.” 

“He refused?”

Theon pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket. He didn’t even bother reading it to her, he simply hands it to Sansa without another word, hurt flashing upon his face, though Sansa can see him trying to conceal it. She takes the letter from him, eyes scanning each line as fast as they could. The way his father spoke to him was horrid - no father should speak to their son that way, and this perhaps was proof of why Theon Greyjoy was the way he was. This letter makes her grateful for her own father, who she needed now more than ever. This letter is laced with venom, though the cruelty of these words had no antidote. They stayed with you forever.

“You worthless boy, don’t you ever disrespect me again by asking me to side with a bunch of mainlanders. You’re weak, like the rest of them, and you’re no son of mine. If you were, you’d know never to ask me such shit. I’ll never side with a Stark, I’d rather die. Go be with your new family now, you shit. If you ask for my ships again, we will sail North and show every last Northerner the Iron price, including you, boy.” 

Sansa mutters the ending aloud, looking at Theon with horror upon the conclusion. His eyes watered, though he won’t look back at her. Not when he seems to be so vulnerable. 

“Theon….” Her voice is as soft as a whisper, though it’s asking him to meet her gaze. She so desperately wants to comfort him - rip up this letter and toss it in the fire, though she knows he must show her brother first.

“You know, you should watch your mouth. Swearing like that isn’t very Princess-like of you.” He kids, referring to her read aloud of the letter. Theon’s avoiding the topic, and she will not allow him to do such. 

“Theon….” She begins once more, tone a bit more loud and urgent this time. He still refuses to meet her eyes. “When did this letter arrive?”

“This morning. It’s why I was late to break fast with your family.”

“Is this why you were so rattled? Not because of the betrothal?” 

“Aye,” He admits, once more refusing to cast even a glance in her direction, this admission completely defeating him. 

Sansa is shocked by this confession, surprised he wasn’t so bothered by the prospect of their marriage. She ignores this, however, right now, and instead focuses on Balon Greyjoy’s pathetic excuse of a letter. Sansa hands it back to Theon, who only puts it back in his pocket. 

“You have to understand, Sansa, I’m only your father’s bloody ward. My marriage prospects were never that great to begin with. Especially not with a name like Greyjoy.” He dares a brief look, then turns away again. “Marrying you is probably the best case scenario.” 

Sansa looks at him with a blank expression, which is the complete opposite of the explosion going on in her head. Every emotion she could possibly feel was swirling about within her body right now. She wasn’t sure how to react to that, and clearly Theon picked up on it.

“Relax, I’m not confessing my secret undying love for you. Not happening. I was just saying that it wouldn’t be the worst thing for me.” 

“Oh.” Is all she can muster, mind still trying to wrap around his confession. It didn’t change anything, she wouldn’t let her empathy cloud any judgement. Sansa wouldn’t marry Theon out of pity, that wasn’t going to happen. 

“You know what’s funny about this whole thing,” He begins once more, trailing off. “As a kid, I’d dream your father would wed us.” Theon laughs at the thought, shaking his head. Sansa looks at him bewildered, joining in with her own fit of laughter. 

“You could hardly stand me as a kid!” She protested.

“I wouldn’t say that. I thought it was fun to annoy you. Thought you were alright overall, though you did have some bratty moments.” 

“That I did.”

“The fantasy was never about you. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“No?” Sansa questions, finally meeting his gaze. The two of them making eye contact for the first time since the very beginning of this conversation. There’s a bit of silence, just two pairs of eyes looking at one another, almost as if they were communicating on their own. Theon eventually looks down before speaking, breaking this weird atmosphere they had built. 

“I wanted to be a Stark. You just happened to be less annoying than Arya. It was stupid, it meant nothing.” It surprises her how he confesses this to her, and she thinks it surprises him too, because he’s slightly disturbed in expression, trying to make himself busy.   
“I um, well, so I guess I’m trying to say that I get the whole wanting to pick who you wed thing.” Theon continues. “We can go to Robb together and tell him we both think it’s a bad idea.”

“But you told me you’d agree to it.”

“Let’s just go tell your brother now, alright. That way you can look at me without wanting to get sick and I can stop telling you all this shit about my royally fucked up life.” 

Sansa watches him, rising to follow Theon to her brother’s tent. A small smile dances onto her lips, perhaps appeasing the fraction of herself that is now thinking that being married to Theon Greyjoy wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Though that second is brief, and the rest of her is full of relief of not having to do this anymore. Things could be normal once again.

Theon opens the mouth of the tent for her, the two of them going to knock for his attention, though it seems Robb had grabbed theirs before they could grab his. He was without a shirt, holding one of the camp nurse’s in a tight embrace, lips engaged in a sort of tango not meant for anyone else to see. Sansa didn’t know who she was, but she knew it wasn’t a Frey girl. 

“What’re you doing?” She blurts out, not even thinking. Theon grabs her shoulder to escort her out, though Robb stands up, hands waving them down.

“No, stay. Theon, Sansa, I wanted you to meet her soon anyway.” Robb says frantically, putting a robe on. Sansa’s eyes won’t meet his, mostly due to how weird this was to see her brother in a situation like this, though she’s too angry to attempt to move her feet from the cemented position they were in right now. 

“We can come back…” Theon replies once more, almost begging for Sansa’s sake, it seems. He gives her shoulder a slight squeeze, though Sansa doesn’t stop standing her ground. 

“No, don’t. It’s the perfect time, I’ve been waiting to have you all meet. Sansa, Theon, this is Talisa Maegyr. We intend to wed.” 

Theon’s hand tightens on Sansa’s shoulder once more, almost as if he predicts what’s about to happen. 

“What?” She replies, anger bubbling within her.

“I know what you’re going to say, I know what Mother’s going to say, but I love her, Sansa.”

Her eyes narrow, body ready to erupt like a volcano. 

“You’re a hypocrite!” She yells, words pooling like lava, flowing out of her with a ferocious speed and deadly impact. “You tell me to pick duty over love for the North, yet you can’t even commit to the duty of marrying the Frey girl!” Sansa shakes her head, “I can’t believe you.”

She storms out of the tent, Theon running desperately behind her. 


	7. Seeking Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa demands Theon speaks to Robb to end this betrothal nonsense once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much, as always, for the kind feedback! 
> 
> Hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! I didn't really intend for it to happen this way, but it sorta just wrote itself, so I hope you all dig it!
> 
> Thanks for your patience, as usual! You're all so lovely.
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated and allow me to talk with you! Leave any suggestions you might have, I always love to hear where you guys think this should go :)

“Sansa, wait!” Theon calls after her, though she simply doesn’t hear. Her feet are moving quickly, forcing her to the outermost edge of camp. 

Sansa refused to let Robb see the anger he caused, her chest felt like it was twisting in on itself, her hands hadn’t stopped clenching into a fist. All she could do was focus on her breathing to prevent herself from crying or screaming, perhaps even both. She finds a log and decides to sit atop of it, hands cradling her head as she desperately tries to calm down. 

“Alright, Speedy.” Theon begins, “I try to do the right thing and chase after you, and you make it more difficult.” There’s an obvious attempt at humor to cheer her up, though it’s clear Sansa wants no part of it. 

He sighs upon this realization, moving beside her on the log. There’s silence between them, and there’s a moment where he contemplates putting a comforting hand on her back, though he hesitates. Sansa isn’t sure why this is, though she’s far too engrossed in her own feelings of despair to pay it much mind, and soon enough, his hand does find itself upon her back, rubbing comforting circles. She pulls her head from her hands, finally looking at him. 

“I’m not sure if I’m more mad or more hurt.” She confesses, tone soft as she finds herself surprised at how quick she was to confide in him. Though, things have been changing between them continuously. Each day Sansa finds herself growing closer to Theon, and while this unexpected friendship crept up on her, she’s definitely growing grateful for it. 

“You could be both.” He replies with a shrug, though he’s still providing a comforting touch to her. Theon sighs, “Look, it’s a shitty situation. I’m not really sure how to cheer you up.”

“I don’t know either.” Sansa agrees, shaking her head. 

“Robb cares about you.” Theon begins, removing his hand from the small of her back. “He’s just trying to help you in his own way.” 

“Crummy way of showing it.”

“Aye, I’d say so.” Theon reaches for her hand, and she watches curiously. They were never the touchy sort, though here he was. She doesn’t deny him the grasp, though she eyes their hands with great reluctance. “I think if you talk to him, it’ll be worked out.”

“Since when do you do emotions?” Sansa questions, mostly to change the subject. Her hand still remains in his own, though she has no intention of withdrawing them. It’s comforting, which is probably the purpose of why he’s done this, but it’s an odd sensation to her that she’s seeking comfort from Theon. 

“Don’t push it.” He teases, giving her hands a squeeze. Though he drops them, which leaves Sansa feeling very aware of the lack of touch between them suddenly. “I’m trying to do my duty as your unwanted intended.” Theon wiggles his eyebrows at her, causing Sansa to roll her eyes. 

“Not much longer.” She warns, tilting her head slightly. There’s silence suddenly, and Tully blue eyes take him in for what he was - a surprising friend, potential husband. The thought doesn’t disturb her as much as it did before, though it is still far from ideal for her. Just because Theon’s been showing her kindness and friendship these past few weeks, doesn’t mean she’d give up a marriage of love to just settle for a friend. 

“Why don’t we go back and talk to Robb?” Theon asks, “I’ll go with you, if you’d like. Tell him how repulsive his sister is and how I refuse to marry someone so irritating.” 

“Wow, you’re hilarious. Perhaps we should have him make you the Fool versus Lord of the Dreadfort.” 

“Alright, take it easy. If you’re not careful, I’ll have them wed us tomorrow.” Theon teases, rising from his spot on the log. He holds out a hand to help Sansa up. 

“You’d like that, I’m certain.” Sansa teases right back, taking his hand to stand. Once she’s up right, she lets go of him, hands now coming to flatten out her dress. 

“Yet, here I am, leading you to go disband our potential union.” He retorts with a playful smirk. 

“Actually -” Sansa begins, stopping in her tracks. “I don’t think I can talk to Robb tonight. I’m still furious. I just need some time to sit on this.” 

“That’s fine.”

“Can… can you go? Obviously you can’t resolve our issues, though if you spoke to him about our betrothal, he might listen to you.” 

“Sansa, I-”

“Please, Theon.” She’s pleading, using her biggest doe eyes she could muster. 

“Fine, whatever. I can’t make any promises. You’ve always been better at convincing Robb of things.”

“Thank you!” Sansa chirps, throwing her arms around him abruptly. She feels him falter back slightly at the shock of the embrace, though eventually he returns her squeeze. They pull apart after several moments, eyes locking, which only causes Sansa to look away suddenly, cheeks flushing madly with pink. 

“Careful there, or I might think you want to get married.” He teases, causing Sansa to want to shrivel up even more than she already did. Her head was already reeling with questions on why she’d do that, and now his reaction embarrasses her further. 

“Shut up. Friends hug, deal with it.” Her voice is crisp, almost as if it’s defending itself. 

“Alright, dealing with it.” Theon responds, hands up in defense. His eyes linger on her for a moment, almost as if he’s thinking deeply about something, but then he looks away. “I’ll go talk to our fearless leader.”

“Good luck.” Sansa urges, turning on her feet towards her tent. 

* * *

Theon watches as Sansa walks away, a smile lingering on his face as she does. While this situation was stressful, he couldn’t help but find some sort of amusement in it all. Here he was, on his way to end their betrothal, all because she couldn’t stomach the thought of being married to him. He had to laugh, otherwise he’d risk being offended. 

He begins his approach to Robb’s tent, hopeful his friend has finished with the nurse. Under normal circumstances, Theon would pride Robb on his accomplishment, though it seemed incredibly inappropriate given what Sansa was feeling from it. He felt this obligation to defend her and her feelings, though he chalked it up to their betrothal. Once it was ended, he’d feel no obligation towards her anymore - not anymore than he would for any of his friends. 

As Robb’s tent begins to be in his field of vision, he notices the nurse sneaking out. He had to get better at sneaking girls in and out - Theon was a bit of a seasoned pro at this, though most of his conquests consisted of whores from the surrounding cities, so he was doing more sneaking than girls, truthfully. But with Talisa gone, Theon felt confident walking into Robb’s tent, not expecting to find him balls deep in anyone. 

“You cheeky, bastard, you.” Theon greets, opening the mouth of the tent. Robb looks up, though his expression doesn’t match the one on the Iron Born’s face. 

“She hates me, doesn’t she?” Robb asks, shaking his head. 

“No, she’ll get over it eventually. You Starks and _your family bond_.” Theon replies as if it was such an oddity, though it’s only because he had always harbored resentment over the fact that his family was nothing like that. Even before he was taken as Ned Stark’s ward, the Greyjoy family wasn’t as codependent and involved with one another as the Starks had been. The weight of his father’s letter burned a hole in his pants at the thought. 

“How do you know?” Robb questions, concern evident on his face. 

“I just do.” Theon shrugs.

“She’s so quick to confide in you now. Perhaps more so than me.” Robb’s voice rings with disappointment. Theon sighs, walking into the center of the room more, taking a seat opposite his best mate. 

“I’m her friend, you’re her brother, maybe it’s just different.” 

“You weren’t always Sansa’s friend.”

“I mean, I suppose you could say that.” Theon once more shrugs, “We never hated each other.”

“It’s different now.”

“Aye. Lots of things are now.” 

“You went after her, you didn’t stay to talk to me.” Robb states, no emotion involved.

“Are you gonna have a fit over it like a girl?” Theon remarks. 

“It was just an observation. You went after Sansa instead of me, who you claim as brother.” 

“You had your nurse here still.”

“Wouldn’t have stopped you before.”

“So I’m at fault for following after your distraught sister instead of staying and trying to get a glimpse of you and your nurse fucking?” 

“Do you love her?” Robb asks him, a brow raising in question.

Theon laughs.

He laughs some more. 

He laughs so hard, he’s certain he’ll stop breathing. 

“ _Alright_.” Robb states, causing Theon to shut up.

“Seriously? Love her? Robb, she’s only five and ten.” 

“You’re to be wed, it might’ve just occurred to you that if you’re to finally have actual feelings for a girl, it’d be the one you’ll be married to.” Robb responds, tone sterner than normal. 

“You really intend to wed her to me after she saw you breaking your own oath.” 

“It’s not just about keeping you North anymore. I didn’t wish to tell her this, mostly because I know it would anger her, but I’m doing it for her safety as well. Once I tell my mother of this, I’m certain she would agree.” Robb explains, though he doesn’t sound too confident on that last part. Theon was never Catelyn’s favorite person. 

“Doubtful she’d agree, but continue.”

“Sansa was almost wed to the Lannister bastard. We’ve heard the rumors of what he’s like, those horrors. I cannot risk my sister being with someone else like that again.” Robb says, though it seems as if he’s only just begun. “I trust you to protect my sister, if you’re wed, I expect you to honor those vows, to treat her in kind, never hurt her the way that Bastard did.” 

“I wouldn’t.” Theon agrees, though he sees where this conversation with Robb is going, causing him to feel guilt that this is the opposite of what Sansa wants. 

“Then do you agree, Theon? Will you accept this betrothal to Sansa?” 

“I -” Theon begins, thinking back to everything he told Sansa, how this would be an improvement for him. Though he can’t shake her stupid blue doe eyes, the way she expressed horror at the thought of being married to him. This slightly hurts him, though he can’t explain why. Perhaps it’s just a general offense at being deemed an unwanted partner. “I can’t, Robb.” Theon finally says.

“Why not?” The King questions. 

“It wouldn’t be a good match.” Theon says, and perhaps he’s not entirely lying. There’s a part of him that would never feel good enough for pure and innocent Sansa Stark, even if this match would improve his life tremendously. 

“It might work out. My father and mother were never supposed to wed, yet look at how it worked out for them.”

“So why don’t you apply that logic to the Frey girl?” Theon questions. 

Robb stares at him, almost hurt that Theon would say this. He shakes his head, looking away for a moment. Theon questions if he overstepped, though knows that as his best friend, this is his place, more so than any other advisors. 

“I don’t say this proudly, but I’m the King and ultimately I should marry who I please. I can make Walder Frey another good pairing. My uncle remains unwed, his daughter would be Lady of Riverrun.” 

“But your sister isn’t a Queen so who she marries doesn’t matter?” 

“It’s different, Theon.” Robb retorts. “I’m doing this for my sister’s safety. I need not worry for my safety, it is Sansa who does. I’m trying to protect her. The two of you get on well, you’re always laughing now, I’ve noticed. I’m sure you could find love with each other. This will become ideal for us all.” 

Theon’s almost convinced -  _ almost _ . He remembers Sansa once more and knows that if he left here with anything but their broken betrothal, she’d never speak to him again. Ironic, considering it’d mean they’d be together forever. 

“I’m not so sure.” He replies, slightly unconvinced.

“Did Sansa send you here?” Robb wonders. 

“Aye, she did.”

“I’m not wrong, then.” Robb shakes his head, amused. “You bloody love my sister.”

“No!” Theon protests, though the more this possibility is presented to him, the more he begins to question the truth behind this. But in all honesty, it’s not even a little bit true. Love is a rather big leap. While yes, Sansa was now grown, and he’d be lying if he didn’t find her attractive now, but he didn’t love her. Love wasn’t based on attraction, nor was it on him enjoying her company as any friend would. He convinces himself that Robb is just trying to project these feelings to Theon so he’d agree to wed her. 

“You wouldn’t be here trying to end a betrothal that makes you a high Northern Lord, good brother to the King, perhaps even one day the King!” 

“Nonsense, why would I wed someone who doesn’t wish to marry me?” Theon responds, tone defensive. 

“Well, you don’t have a choice. I’m not doing this to be a hypocrite. I’m doing this to protect my sister. I couldn’t do that before - but now, now I can.” Robb says, and his tone makes it seem like this decision is final. “I get it, I look hypocritical, I look like an ass, whatever. She can hate me, eventually she’ll understand. One day, she may even be grateful. But I know my father would want me keeping my siblings safe, and this is the best I can do. Sansa is to wed you, and you will be an honorable husband, you will maintain your vows, you won’t stray, and you will always protect her.” Robb looks to Theon, raw emotion on his face. “Do you agree as my friend, my brother? Or must I demand this of you as your King?”

“Aye, I agree.” Theon finally responds, with a weighing feeling in his gut. Robb was a hypocrite, but he cared about his sister, this much is certain. Theon would do everything to ease his worry, perhaps even Catelyn’s too. Though, it would take much to eventually ease Sansa’s.

“Good.” Robb sighs, shaking his head. “She will hate me, she may never speak to me again. But I am doing right by her. It is an unfortunate world, where it is a father or brother’s obligation to arrange who daughters or sisters wed, but it is the world we live in. Until that changes, it is up to me to protect Sansa and look out for her best interest now that our father cannot.” 

“I’ll try to talk to her. Maybe she’ll come around to it.” Theon replies, though he’s doubtful of this. It’ll be weeks before Sansa will ever speak to him again, he’s certain of this. 

“Well, go talk to her. Get this over with. I’d prefer to have my sister speaking to me as soon as possible.” 

“Don’t count on it being so soon, but I’ll do my best.” Theon answers, as he rises from his chair. 

He walks outside of camp, noticing Sansa speaking with Dacey Mormont. The distress from her discovery of Robb earlier is still evident, though she acts as if it isn’t there. Perhaps it’s obvious to him because he knows how she feels, but Dacey seems blissfully unaware. Sansa’s eyes meet his, and she excuses herself, running over to him excitedly. 

“ _Well?_ ” She questions, eager to see their betrothal broken. 

“I think we should talk,” Theon begins, bringing a hand to her shoulder. 

“No.” Sansa says, expression changing as she realizes what’s about to be said. She shakes from Theon’s grip, eyes darting to the mouth of Robb’s tent, where he emerges, walking over to them. She goes to turn, though Robb calls out to her. 

“Sansa, no. This must be discussed. You’ve never been one to run from your problems, now the two of you will come in here and discuss this, and you can throw any of your frustrations at me. This isn’t Theon’s fault.” Robb says, words final with the sternness and certainty a true King possesses. 

The chaos of this situation draws eyes, Catelyn Stark’s being one of them. 

“What is going on here?” She questions loudly, demanding an answer. 

“Why don’t you tell her, Robb?” Sansa retorts, Robb shooting her daggers the way any brother would at his snitching sister. 

“Tell me what?” Their mother questions.

“Let’s take this inside…” Theon interrupts. 

“Yes, let’s do as my  _ intended _ says! Not as if we have say anymore, Mother.” Sansa snaps, walking into the tent. 

“Your  _ intended _ ?” Catelyn repeats in shock, or maybe it’s horror, Theon isn’t sure.

“Everybody,  _ inside _ !” Robb demands. 

They all obey, walking into the tent, their King shutting the flap behind them. 

“Someone tell me what’s going on, and fast.” Catelyn says, looking at all three of them, anger glossing over her entire expression. 

**This was going to be a long night**.


	8. There are Wedding Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has something to say about Robb's idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be up last night, but someone called and I couldn't continue writing. I tried to finish it for y'all tonight, even though i totally am falling asleep (SO WITH THAT IN MIND, PLEASE BE KIND TO MY WRITING IN CASE IT LOOKS LIKE I NEVER COMPLETED A SENTENCE IN MY LIFE) So here is the next chapter, tbh I'm falling asleep so I may not even remember parts tomorrow (how incredibly unprofessional, but i felt bad it had been over a week since update, and the beginning is quite solid, so let's hope my subconscious keeps it up). If I find this unreadable come tomorrow morning, I'll delete, revise, and repost!
> 
> Also, I'm sorry this is so short! I'll make next chapter longer.
> 
> So now that my babbling is done, please enjoy!

Tensions were running almost unbearably high within the confines of the tent. It seemed that mother and daughter were against son and ward. Despite the loud showcase presented outside, once the group entered the tent, words were nowhere to be found. On the opposite end of the tent, others gathered into a hush, curious if they could overhear whatever spat their King and his family were engaged in.

Sansa sat in a corner, body tilted away from her brother and Theon’s direction, making her anger well known. Catelyn sat beside her, a comforting hand on her daughter’s thigh, while Robb paced back and forth in the center of the tent, Theon was standing in the opposite corner of the women, feeling much like he didn’t belong here at this moment.

“Well?” Catelyn questions, eyes sharp, though tone even more so.  
Silence meets her question, Theon and Robb looking at each other to see who is brave enough to speak up. Catelyn did a great job of instilling fear into them, she always had. While she had the tenderness and kindness of a mother, she was stern and a force to be reckoned with once you got on her bad side. Sansa was beginning to get this way too, perhaps even more so now that she had experienced the bitter taste the world had to offer.

“I can tell you everything you need to know, Mother.” Sansa speaks up, an obvious coolness in her tone. Blue eyes look between Robb and Theon with hurt, she’s not bothering to conceal her inner emotions at this point. It’s clear to Theon at this point that he really messed up.

“Go on, Sansa. I’m all ears.” Catelyn responds, trying to be as soothing as she could be to her clearly hurting daughter.

“Robb insists I marry Theon, which I will not do.” She begins, pausing intentionally to shoot daggers at her brother. Sansa and Robb always got on best of the true born Stark siblings, though when they fought - they went low. “Theon and I discussed it, Mother. While he feels it would benefit him by marrying me, he understands my feelings and told me he’d talk to Robb about it.” Now her glance shifts to Theon, exterior icy, enough to freeze him, if she tried. “Yet, he emerged from Robb’s tent singing a different tune.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to explain a thing to you! How can you say that?” Theon practically shouts, looking right at her.

Sansa feels her stomach flip, almost guilty for being mad at him for this, though she refuses to back down. Perhaps it’s her stubbornness, her unwillingness to lose an argument, or even the fact that she’s hurt that he accomplished the opposite of what she asked of him.

“Well… did you break off the betrothal?” Sansa questions, auburn eyebrows raised upon her forehead as she does this. Her tone reeked of sarcasm, knowing exactly where this would go.

“I - well, no! But you didn’t let me explain!” Theon protests, hands thrown up in frustration.

Sansa was well aware that this was an unfair trial for him, but she didn’t plan to relent. She wouldn’t be satisfied until Robb broke off their betrothal, having them both be happy apart. While a part of her questioned if she’d enjoy being married to Theon Greyjoy, she wouldn’t even indulge that tiny fraction of herself. There was no need to - curiosity killed the cat, her father always warned.

“Enough!” Robb calls out, hands crossing his chest. “I explained to Theon why this is in all of our best interests, yours especially, Sansa.”

“How is marrying Theon Greyjoy in Sansa’s best interest, Robb? For him he benefits, but what does she get out of it other than a horrid life at the Dreadfort?” Catelyn chimes in, not wanting this in the slightest for her daughter.

“Really making that Dreadfort arrangement sound good, Robb.” Theon adds, though glares from all three Starks are enough to shut him up after that comment.

“It’s for Sansa’s safety.” Robb states, ignoring the looks from his sister.

“You’ve got to be joking!” Sansa cries out, almost laughing at the thought. “How does marrying me off to Theon and sending me to the Dreadfort make me safe? If safety was your concern, I’d become an old maid and tell made up tales to scare your children and then their children, just as Old Nan did.” Her comment is meant as a joke, though no one seems to get the humor in it.

“We will make Sansa a nice match. Mace Tyrell has three very handsome sons, though I do believe one is married - there’s also the issue his daughter has wed Renly Baratheon..” Catelyn’s mind seems to be ticking, trying to think through the great houses and where they could send Sansa.

“Sansa was betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon, who sits upon the Iron Throne and comes from two of the most powerful houses in Westeros, and that did not guarantee her safety at all.” Robb retorts. He looks at Sansa, who suddenly dodges his glance, her own eyes looking upon her skin which has finally healed. No more bruises, no more evidence of her being Joffrey’s play thing. Her stomach twists at the thought, and she hates to admit Robb was right. Though, she’d never give him that satisfaction.

“Not every man in Westeros has the capacity for cruelty like Joffrey.” Catelyn replies quickly.

“Sansa wouldn’t want any of the other eligible options.”

“Of course she would, Sansa would love them, handsome and noble and all.”

“Why don’t we let Sansa tell us herself what she wants.” Theon interrupts, causing everyone to go silent and look at him. Robb’s expression is unreadable, and Catelyn looks like she’s ready to throw something at him, though it’s Sansa’s expression that is the most surprising.

She had been so lost in thought, transported to King’s Landing where she had been nothing but a hostage, a child beaten and broken, used and abused. Her mind goes there sometimes, and when it does, she seems to take a break from reality, much like now. It is Theon’s defense that really helps her find her grounding once more. Her face turns soft, and when she looks at him, she smiles. Internally, she feels as if butterflies have emerged within her stomach, taken flight and are desperately trying to escape.

What was this?

Sansa had only felt this way once before. It was the moment Joffrey had kissed her for the first time. It was when she was stupid and naive, a young girl so enamored with the idea of one day being Queen and being loved by her people. She didn’t understand that she was playing with poison, that her lips were touching her father’s killer, her abuser - the downfall of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, when she looks at Theon, this is the very same innocent feeling that’s fluttering within her, and she can’t quite place why it’s there. It’s absurd to compare her feelings with Joffrey in the past to Theon now.

He made one nice comment, and she chalks this up to gratitude, and nothing else. Sansa disregards their chats, their newfound sense of trust and vulnerability, she even tries to forget how he makes her laugh like no one else, encouraging her while he challenges her. These, to her, are all a part of their friendship, and it’s not the accumulation of all of these things that causes her to freeze, to look at him as if he’s the light in this dark tent. To make her say something she’s completely about to regret.

“I… I can’t believe I’m saying this,” She begins with a reluctant sigh, Catelyn’s expression one of pure disappointment in anticipation of what Sansa’s about to say. “But I think Robb might be right, Mother.”

“You think Theon Greyjoy is the only man who will protect you once you’re wed? How foolish of you to think so, Sansa.” Her mother retorts.

“It’s a gamble I’m not willing to make.” Robb states. “If I’m trusting someone with my sister, he better treat her as I see fit.”

Catelyn sighs, blue eyes looking between son and daughter, trying to communicate all of her frustrations through simple glances. It appeared she was unsatisfied with this, but Robb is too set in his ways and Sansa can’t stop staring at the floor, looking completely and utterly lost as she’s unsure of how to proceed from here.

“May I speak?” Theon pipes up, causing the Starks to look his way. Their silence seems to be enough permission for him, so he begins what is most definitely his attempt at comforting both the women. “I understand, Lady Stark, I may not be your ideal match for Sansa. I also understand why she wouldn’t want me either. While most of the time I walk around like I’m some important Lord who has somewhere better to be, I really don’t. Can’t offer you the Iron fleet, can’t offer you the islands unless we take it for ourselves. I’m the son of an absolute shithead, who has run the Iron Islands into the ocean.”

The Starks look at him as though he’s dragging on too long, Robb clearing his throat to put Theon back on track.

“Right, well, all I’m saying is, I can’t promise you that stupid fairytale you dreamt up as a kid and wouldn’t shut up about, but I can be.. Nice? Protective? Dunno, decent? Not selling a whole lot here, but -”

“That’s more than I had with Joffrey.” Sansa chimes in. Her eyes are still on the ground, not looking up at anyone. “He’d have his men beat me, put me in front of the court and humiliate me. He’d spit on Father’s legacy, he had me stare at Father and Septa Mordane’s heads on spikes. My skin was more bruised than not, I was a prisoner, a plaything for him to use at his disposal. Nothing could be worse.”

This was the first time she spoke much of her truth aloud, the three others looking at Sansa as if she was some fragile thing of glass. This was why she never said much to begin with, she didn’t wish to be pitied or viewed differently, yet, here she was. Her mother takes her hand, and the boys step in closer.

“I would never hurt you, Sansa.” Theon replies, voice soft as he tries to connect with her in this moment.

“I know,” She softly manages, finally looking up at him. “Which is why I will consider this marriage. Robb’s reasoning makes sense - and while I don’t believe other Lords out there would treat me as Joffrey did, I agree that I should be with someone I trust to keep me safe. Especially during times of war when the Lannisters want my head.”

“Excellent!” Robb cheers, finally seeing the results he wants. He looks to Catelyn, who clearly doesn’t show the same enthusiasm.

“I don’t think we should put anything in writing yet, Robb.” Catelyn warns. “We should bide our time, there’s no rush. Besides, don’t we think we should be consulting Balon over this? Extending a branch?”

“You mean the bloody bastard who refuses to send a fleet and told me he’d make the North pay the iron price if I contacted him about an alliance again?” Theon questions.

“Fine, Balon or not, there’s no rush. Robb, you and Walder Frey’s daughter should be the top priority. That will be our next wedding.” Catelyn declares.

Sansa releases an ironic laugh, Theon eyeing the mother son duo with hesitation.

“You didn’t tell her?” The princess asks, living for this moment, clearly.

“I - not yet.” Robb responds.

“Tell me what?” Catelyn inquires.

“Maybe we should leave for this.” Theon says, hinting to Sansa, who does not want to leave at all in the slightest. She truly wants to see her brother get some sense knocked into him.

“I intend to wed someone else. There is a nurse here, her name is Talisa, and she’s beautiful and wonderful, Mother. I fell in love, and I intend to marry her.” Robb speaks over Theon, desperate to plead his case.

“Robb, do you realize the severity of making a vow?” Catelyn asks, almost shocked she needs to remind a son of Ned Stark of this.

Sansa watches with great interest, wanting this to change Robb’s mind in the worst way. His argument with their mother would surely distract herself from the fact that she had agreed to a lifelong commitment to Theon Greyjoy. Though his hand is tugging at her, trying to remove her from the tent and to give her family privacy, so the distraction is a complete failure.

The pair emerge, a new bit of tension between them. At this point, they were likely to be getting married, and neither of them had a lick of feelings for one another - or so Sansa would tell herself. It’s an incredibly awkward situation, Sansa releasing an uncomfortable sigh as she walked beside Theon.

“Now do you understand why I left with a different outcome than you would’ve liked?” Theon asks, causing Sansa to look at him.

“I suppose to a degree I do.”

“I couldn’t tell Robb that I wouldn’t take care of his precious little sister.”

“Funny.”

“Lucky for you, we have an entire lifetime together now where you can hear all my jokes.”

“I’m already regretting this decision.” Sansa sighs, now thinking about the future she has just confined herself to.

“If it comforts you, by the time we’re to actually wed, the war will be over or Robb would have found a more advantageous marriage for you. Don’t worry, you won’t be stuck with this pile of tentacles.” Theon says, trying to comfort her.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Sansa simply says with a shrug. While she did agree to Robb that she’d do it, she still didn’t feel optimistic about marrying Theon at all.

“You should,” Theon replies, “Though I do suppose this is where we say goodnight.” He leans down to press a light kiss to her cheek, pulling back with a laugh. “Have to impress my future wife, after all.”

“Goodnight, Theon.” Sansa says in a jokingly annoyed tone, trying to ignore the butterflies once more attempting to present themselves as feelings.

She gets inside her tent, and prepares for bed quicker than she has ever before.

There’s a lot on her mind she must sort.


	9. Getting Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Theon get somewhere in terms of accepting the fact they are now betrothed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, thank you so much for your wonderful feedback! Your comments make my day!!
> 
> I made this chapter slightly longer ~ hopefully y'all enjoy that!
> 
> Should I make this slow burn draw out even longer, or do I give into the temptation hahahaha, let me know what you think down below!
> 
> ALSO i'm now on twitter. You can find me on theonsasoups ! We can cry about our ship for hours if you'd like! Give me a follow : )

Sansa hadn’t much time to speak to Theon the past few days, and truthfully, it was more convenient than anything else. She wasn’t sure what to say, how to behave, or well, how to do anything around him anymore. The new friendship they developed and so easily fell into seemed incredibly strained to her now. Sansa couldn’t help but look at him in any way other than her future husband, whether or not she liked it. This only caused her to flush furiously when he approached and avoid him at almost all costs. Surely it was noticeable at this point. 

Thankfully, they were reaching the final neck of their journey, which was Riverrun. Sansa had never been, though she heard countless tales from her mother who had grown up there as a young girl. She would finally be meeting her Uncle Edmure, her grandfather, and even her mother’s uncle who they called the Blackfish. They all rallied around her brother’s cause, though had been at home in Riverrun while there was some time between military campaigns. 

This reunion caused Sansa to be nervous. Not because she was anxious to meet her family, that had been no issue for her, but rather it meant her brother would be returning to the battlefield shortly. The thought of Robb, and even Theon, off at battle caused unease in her stomach. War had been romanticized so greatly to her as a young girl, though now she’s left seeing the brutal reality of it all. Losing either one of them to a war they had not started would be a pain she wasn’t sure she could endure. Sansa had taken the downtime at the camps for granted so much so, that she almost forgot a war raged on around them. 

Joffrey, Renly, Stannis, and Robb, all vying for the same stupid throne. How long Sansa had dreamed sitting beside her husband on the iron throne, though now she’s left with the frigid halls of the Dreadfort. While it sounds as if she drew the short end of the stick, it was still an incredible improvement from the life she would’ve been bound to with Joffrey. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” Her brother rides up beside her, causing Sansa to turn to face her unexpected company. 

“I’ve had quite a bit on my mind.” She simply replies, a shrug of her shoulders as she continues her trek forward. 

“I did as well,” Robb begins, clearing his throat for a moment, almost as if he’s trying to find the right words to say. “I just wanted to … apologize.”

This catches Sansa’s interest, her eyebrows raise in intrigue, expression one that is clearly waiting for him to elaborate. She wouldn’t flat out tell him why he should be apologizing, no, she wouldn’t make it that easy for her brother. 

“I was a hypocrite, I can recognize that. But I really do feel as though you marrying Theon is the best for your protection, and I’d be lying if it also didn’t benefit the North.” He sighs, “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Sansa. It kills me to know that little shit, Joffrey, was doing all those awful things to you and I couldn’t come to stop it.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Robb.” Sansa insists, eyes softer now that she sees he realizes his mistakes against her.

“No, but I’m your older brother. I promised you when we were kids, all those years ago, that I’d always protect you. We’d play knights and princesses, you and me, and sometimes even Jon and Theon. I promised you then and I still intend to uphold that promise, I will always protect you, Sansa.” His words ring loudly, though it’s the raw emotion behind them that makes them stick so much. 

Sansa smiles at her older brother, watching the King that rode beside her, trying to remember the boy who once did. How he had grown, how they all had. They were still kids, yet the world had forced them to grow up well before their time. There’s a part of her that daydreams and wishes for the simpler times. A time when Ned Stark still lived, Bran Stark could still run along with his siblings, all of them home in Winterfell. Robb would play knights and princesses with her, Jon begrudgingly so, though he’d ultimately end up sulking in the corner. Arya, Bran, and Rickon would try to ruin the game by running through as wildlings, even Theon would be there too. All while Ned and Catelyn Stark watched from the balcony. 

Though things weren’t so simple, not anymore, not ever again. 

“I know.” Sansa replies, corners of her mouth twitching into a soft smile. “I ultimately agreed because I saw that. Otherwise, it would’ve never happened.” 

“If it makes you feel better, I do believe wholeheartedly that yours will be a marriage of love.” Robb adds, half teasing, half attempting to offer her genuine comfort. 

“I highly doubt that.” She quickly counters, though there’s a small part of her that wonders if her brother is right. Theon Greyjoy crept into her mind more than she cared to admit. Still, it didn’t guarantee anything, and Theon’s own feelings were a massive part of this equation. 

“Between you and I,” Robb whispers, looking around to make sure Theon was nowhere in sight, “I tend to believe my friend is quite smitten, though I won’t elaborate much more, mostly because, despite this being a marriage I arranged, the thought of you and Theon together is one that I still need to get used to.” 

“All the more reason you can change your mind.” Sansa teases, though she knows there’s no use. 

* * *

It had been two more days before they reached the gates of Riverrun, the castle paling in comparison to what Sansa had imagined it to be. For rulers of the Riverlands, the home of the Tully’s seemed underwhelming, at least compared to the likes of Harrenhal, which had been within the very same region. Though Sansa would never dare utter this aloud to her mother, who looked at her former home with stars in her eyes. The way Sansa imagined she’d look upon Winterfell once she’d get to ride home soon. 

The original plan was for Sansa to ride home with a few of Robb’s men once they arrived at Riverrun, though there wasn’t any recent mention of this. She hoped she could still return to her brothers, but a pit in her stomach made her think she’d be at Riverrun longer than she’d like. 

Catelyn had been eager to introduce Sansa to her family. Her Uncle Edmure was nice enough, and the Blackfish was a rather curious fellow, but it was the introduction to her grandfather that left a lasting impression. He was a sickly man, soon to pass, and seeing the sadness and mourning on her mother was not something she enjoyed much. It reminded her of her own father, how Sansa wished nothing more than a chance to be with him again. Though life is full of cruelties, she has learned, and not much will ever be fair. 

One of the benefits was that Sansa was finally able to sleep somewhere other than a tent. The Tullys had made rooms available for the Starks, and while Robb refused in order to remain with his men, Sansa and Catelyn had no issue accepting the offer. Her room was smaller than her quarters at King’s Landing, though similar enough to her room back at Winterfell that she felt more at home than she had in years. 

Another added benefit of being in a castle once more was that she was finally able to change. No longer was she confined to the same few outfits that had been on her rotation since arriving to camp. No matter how much she scrubbed at them, there was a lingering layer of dirt, and she feared they stenched from riding for so long. Servants had left at least a fortnight's worth of gowns in her wardrobe, and that was the first thing Sansa took to trying on once she had settled herself in her new room. 

Her eyes naturally are drawn to a grey gown, one that represented House Stark so perfectly. For so long, Sansa couldn’t wear the clothes that symbolized her home, her wardrobe and hair had all been crafted to mirror the styles of the South, all in effort to appear as if she had no remaining loyalties to her family. Now, she was free to dress as she pleased, and an innocent twirl as she showcased her new gown in the mirror went to show just how pleased she really was. 

A knock at her door distracts her from her reflection, Sansa moving quickly to flatten her dress and fix her hair, making sure she was decent before any company had arrived. She was unsure who could possibly be visiting her chambers, though the mystery of it intrigued her.

“Come in!” She calls, peaking at the doorway to see who it could possibly be. 

“Just me.” Theon Greyjoy greets, minding to keep the door open behind him. 

“Oh, hi.” Sansa tries to return in kind, though she feels nerves swell within her, and she’s desperately moving around the room to make herself appear busy unpacking. There’s no reason other than awkwardness, that she’s been avoiding Theon. Clearly he’d begin to notice, though she’d try to play innocent until otherwise called out. 

“Uh, nice dress.” He awkwardly compliments, Sansa’s mood apparently contagious. Theon walks over to her window, taking a seat beside it. 

“Thank you.” Sansa forces a smile, offering him the quickest of glances to try to build up the courage to look at him. He was to be her husband now, and as uncomfortable as she felt about adjusting their relationship, she knew she’d have to get past this eventually. It just didn’t seem as if now would be that instance. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” Theon questions, his eyes on her. At least one of them had been brave enough to look their new reality in the face. 

It bothers Sansa she was not courageous enough to conquer this issue headon. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell, a Wolf of Winter, a daughter of the North. She couldn’t - no, wouldn’t, frighten easily. Yet, being around Theon Greyjoy, having to face the new situation thrown their way, she feels herself shrivel up like some flower deprived of sunlight. It makes her feel uncomfortable, awkward. 

Perhaps it’s because she feels something brewing for Theon beneath the very surface. Robb’s words had certainly gotten to her, and the thought of one day possibly being in love with Theon? It was enough to stress her out, to trigger an inner fight or flight. Sansa wanted to fly away, far, far away. Though this was her reality now, and as a wolf of Winterfell, she must carry forward. 

“It’s been a very chaotic past few days.” Her eyes land directly on his this time, Sansa sucking in a breath as she forces herself to be brave enough to face this beast head on. Theon seems just as surprised as she is, though he decides to make the most of this opportunity. 

“Indeed, it has.” He agrees, though his light hues don’t rip away from her gaze. “I just didn’t want things to be weird between us now that… we’re..”

“Getting married.” Sansa interrupts, clearly trying to pretend as if she’s unbothered by this, despite her attempt at crawling within her own body in refuge moments before. 

“Aye, getting married.” 

There’s silence between them, though their stares remain on one another. Despite the lack of volume in the room, there’s a new found heaviness, and Sansa feels it atop her chest. It is a crushing weight, though she isn’t sure of the source of such tension. Whatever it was, she decides she hates it. Sansa despises it so much that she brings her attention elsewhere, breaking whatever gaze they had put upon each other. 

“Was there something you needed?” She asks, tone sounding completely level. Her acting skills from King’s Landing have proven to come in handy once more, and her folding some blankets in the corner of the room provides her the perfect excuse to act distracted. 

“As your intended I was invited to supper with your family tonight. Robb saw it fit that I escort you down to the great hall.” 

“How thoughtful of him.” Sansa muses, smirking slightly at Theon before returning to her busywork. If she forced herself enough, eventually the unease she felt about this situation would evaporate - or so she’d hope. “Though supper isn’t until sunset, my mother told me.” 

“I’m aware. I just felt as if we had some unfinished business to sort out. Don’t you agree?” 

“How mature of you.” Sansa says, arms folding over her chest slightly. War perhaps had made him wise, or there was a part of him making an effort because it was for her, for Robb. She couldn’t tell yet, but the Theon of old would never care to sort out emotions about a betrothal. He’d go to the whorehouse and have his fun until he no longer could. Even then, Sansa wasn’t sure if a marriage would keep him from his indulgences. These thoughts cause her to stiffen, though she must give him the benefit of the doubt. At least for now, when she feels so little about him and their future. 

“It’s as if I’ve been replaced by a stranger. Perhaps that’s better for you in the long run.” He jokes, rising from his chair. Theon offers her his arm, Sansa pausing in thought about whether or not she should link hers through his. “Shall we go for a walk through the grounds? Supper should be ready by the time we’re done.” 

Sansa simply nods, looping her arm lightly through his. She intentionally puts minimal pressure atop him, not wanting to lean too heavily into him. One second she wishes to stare him down boldly, the next she’s far too embarrassed. Her emotions were an up and down hill, much like the ones her siblings and her would ride down during the snow falls. With a thick swallow of her throat, however, Sansa decides then and there she would be all in - giving Theon the opportunity to prove himself to be the gallant husband Joffrey could not be. It was a chance for her to possibly find a shred of happiness in a world that was so set on giving her anything but. 

* * *

Theon was left more confused than ever. One second it appeared Sansa was willing to attempt at creating a strong marriage, the next, she was avoiding him like some sort of deadly plague. It was a lot more than he bargained for, though he was adamant on trying to get her to at least not want to run in fear whenever he approached. Prior to this whole marriage nonsense, the pair of them had gotten on rather well, and he’d be lying if he said he would miss the friendship they forged when she arrived at camp. 

For now, Sansa seemed to entertain him, her arm loosely around his own. He led her to the castle grounds, which truthfully, he had no idea how to get around, but like most other things Theon did, he was going to wing this. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” He asks, looking straight ahead. He doesn’t wish to look over and see her expression, or watch as she frantically spins a lie to spare his feelings. Theon wanted Sansa’s honesty, and if she was uncomfortable, he wanted to try and fix this. Believe it or not, he wanted a happy marriage, something his own parents didn’t quite seem to have. He’d be damned if he treated a wife the way Balon had. There were times, growing up, he’d swear to take Salt Wives or have himself a mistress, those were the common ways of the Iron Islands. But he could never imagine doing that to Sansa, especially after promising Robb he’d protect her, that included her heart and reputation. 

“It’s not you who makes me uncomfortable, it’s the situation.” Sansa admits.

Theon can understand this, because to a degree, he felt the very same. There must be some sort of odd transition from someone being your friend, to suddenly being your betrothed. He had grown up besides Sansa, he had seen her as a small child, to now the young woman beside him. She had evolved, blossomed into this beautiful woman, and it is when he has thoughts like these that he feels guilt, which helps lend into the discomfort he felt about their future marriage. Theon would be the one to take her innocence, to plant his seed inside her and watch her swell with his child. These thoughts simultaneously haunt him, as well as cause a tightening twinge in his trousers. He refuses to think this way now, looking to Sansa, desperate to find some sort of emotion that is appropriate to feel at this moment. 

“It’s not ideal, no.” He clears his throat, still urging his less than proper thoughts aside. “I know how you once cherished those tales, princesses and knights, and what not.” 

“Foolish things, those stories are. They fill dreamers heads with false realities. So deluded we become, unaware of the bitterness the world holds.” Sansa quickly responds, her eyes going dark momentarily. It almost looked as if there was some form of self conflict when it came to how she formerly felt. As if she resented her past self.

“I always branded you naive in that regard. Wicked smart you were, well are - but those ballads and poems filled your head with such false narratives. I’d mock you so -”

“I remember.” She chuckles, and the sound of her amusement fuels him with enough courage to continue on, trying to push until a door opens and Sansa could let him in. Perhaps, this way, they could have a future of happiness. Definitely not worthy of the songs, but of at least mutual understanding. 

“Well, I guess my point was that I probably won’t be able to give you that.”

“Very unlike you to sell yourself short.” Sansa teases, and there’s a slight return to normalcy for them with this comment. 

Theon suddenly turns to her, a grin on his face at this comment. Sansa looks slightly confused, though he’s far too excited over once more having his sparring partner back, his friend. The more this kept up, the more the awkwardness would melt away like the summer snows. 

“I want us to be happy.” He says, still looking down at her. 

“I want that too.” She finally admits, her teeth linger on her lip for a moment in thought. It’s as if she wishes to say something, but fear holds her back. “I want to trust you.” Sansa slips in at the end, slightly catching Theon off guard.

“Do you not already?” He asks, the quickness in his reply does little to shield his offense from her. 

“As my friend, yes. As my husband? I’d like to, though….” Sansa trails off.

“Though what?”

“Ironborn customs. You used to brag about them as a kid. You’d have salt wives, so you claimed. I’m also no stranger to your brothel habit.” Her words are sharp, a cruel reminder of who he was, or well is. 

Theon cannot deny how badly he’d wish to indulge in a riverlands brothel. Though he cannot will himself to say these words to Sansa. Her big blue eyes still reminded him of innocence, despite that all she had gone through had matured her greatly. Perhaps he just saw in her what he wanted to see, a girl untouched by the cruelty of war. Though here she stood, a survivor nonetheless, and despite how he’d have preferred her spared, her resilience was yet another factor that drew him to her. As a friend, he’d remind himself the way how Sansa had now composed herself was what made them more compatible as friends now, more than they were ever before back at Winterfell. 

“When we wed, my claims to the Iron Islands will be non-existent. If for whatever reason I do retake Pyke for your brother, I highly doubt the reaping and ravaging that brings us Salt Wives would even be permitted under his rule.” 

“So you’d want Salt Wives - you just don’t think you’d legally be able to have them.” Sansa counters, a brow raised curiously. 

“No - I, no, that’s not what I meant.” Theon sighs, “I wouldn’t.” 

“But as a kid you sai-”

“I wasn’t marrying you then, Sansa.” He looks to her, catching her own stare upon him. Once more the two fall into a silence exchange of unreadable looks, almost as if they’re trying to figure out what will be said next, be ahead. 

“Brothels?” She questions, suddenly looking away, almost as if he had already visited one behind her back. 

“As long as you and I remain committed to try and maintain a happy marriage - whether it’s full of love or not, I promise I will not step foot into another brothel.” He earnestly pledges to her, hands reaching down for her own. 

“And if you do?” Sansa asks of him, almost as if she’s unsure of his word.

It was understandable to him, he had never been one for upholding vows and promises, he was a Greyjoy, after all. He was no Stark with their noble promises and natural desire to uphold honor. It would be something he’d have to work on every day, but he would do it, for her, for Robb. His friends. They were both simply his friends, which is why he cared so much to please Sansa and their future marriage. 

“Then you can go to a brothel guilt free.” Theon teases. 

“Right.” Sansa laughs, and it’s a glorious sound, one that makes him think he’s slowly winning her over. That perhaps soon, they’d be man and wife and happy. 

Though this was far too optimistic for his liking. War had filled his head with such delusions. How easy it was to fantasize about a woman to return to, for someone to wait with bated breath for him to return to her. How the many men in the camp made this sound so wonderful, Theon couldn’t help but want it for himself. Sansa fits that role, she fits it very well. A beautiful woman worried sick over his survival, practically throwing herself into his arms upon his return. It was just the thing he needed to stroke his ego - something that had not been done in far too long. Once more, he’d amount his desire for a happy marriage to Sansa to such materialistic things, not that he could ever genuinely see himself falling in love with her. That would be too much. 

“I told Robb I’d protect you, I mean it.” Theon says in defense of himself.

“I know.” Is all she replies. Her eyes wander down to the grip his hands have on her own, a sort of smile tugging at her lips. “My mother and father were such an ideal pair. It’s almost hard to imagine my mother was initially betrothed to my uncle.” 

“Aye.” Theon agrees, waiting for her to go on.

“I’d always ask her how they fell in love, especially when my mother was so head over heels for my father’s brother.”

“What’d she say?” He leads her to a nearby bench, not letting go of her hand as they sit. A slight squeeze is provided, urging her to continue her story, letting her know he was listening. 

“It’s not as romantic as you’d think.” Sansa chuckles, “She grew to love him. It took time, not until after Robb was born. Though above all things, my parents always seemed to have a solid friendship, which most certainly laid the groundwork for a successful marriage.” There’s a slight pause at the end of her words, Sansa looking to Theon once more. “We have the friendship, I’d like to believe at some point, whether we could grow to love one another or not, that we’d be happy.” 

“It would make life easier, certainly.” He agrees, though he can’t help but match her smile. “The friendship is there. The groundwork, as you put it, is certainly there.” 

“I suppose we have it figured out.”

“Reckon we do.” 

Once more silence overcomes them, though there’s no weight of unwelcomed tension upon the pair. If anything, it feels as if the tension had been set free. There’s a new found lightness between them, and it must have to do with the reliance on their friendship before anything else. Sansa’s hands were still in Theon’s, and he was more than content to leave them there. Their hands acted as a bridge between them, allowing them to provide comfort to one another throughout this strange situation. 

“Question.” Sansa suddenly speaks up, “Are you going to try and pursue me now?” It’s clear these words were running through her mind, and she’s not too confident asking this out loud.

Theon takes a moment to think. This thought never crossed his mind, though now it seems foolish that it hadn’t yet. Would he pursue her? Try to get their relationship to where it needed to be before marriage? Love prior to marriage wasn’t a luxury typically afforded to people with noble birth such as themselves, though it was quite tempting. 

“Should I be?”

“I… I’m not sure.” She replies, hesitantly. 

“That’s a first.” He teases, squeezing her hands once more. 

Sansa laughs again, and once more it sounds like victory to him. Her laughter alone is enough to make him want to pursue her, as she had so delicately put it. Yet he can’t, he’s far too reluctant to do such a thing. Normally, any other girl would be in his bed by now (or so he’d like to think), though he can’t find it within himself to put that very charm on Sansa. She deserves more than that, and Theon keeps reminding himself of this.

When he looks at her, he can’t help but see someone way too good for him. A girl out of the realm of possibility of falling in love with him. Even as children he felt this way when his fantasies about Ned Stark marrying him to her would run away from him. It was always about becoming a true son, yet he couldn’t help but feel the burden of knowing he’d never be good enough for Sansa. Now, he more or less has her, and he still doesn’t feel worthy. No longer is it because she’s this innocent and proper lady, but she’s this clever and beautiful woman who has endured so much. He admires it, and while the world has handed her nothing but shit, she so elegantly walks around, head held high, she still finds it in her to choose kindness, to even befriend someone like him. 

“What?” She interrupts his thoughts, clearly curious as to why he was staring why he did. 

Is it almost too much to tell her he’s feeling himself begin to want to pursue her, to want to give this a valiant effort. How he wanted to try to woo her and sweep her off her feet as the poems and songs she recited as a girl said the noble prince would do. He decides it is - and besides, it means little. It’s the conversation that breeds this new emotional conflict in him, nothing more. It would be ill advised to begin pursuing something based off of this.. Or would it? 

“I just,” He begins, eyes traveling down to her lips. How easy it would be to kiss her in this moment. But he reminds himself this is Sansa Stark, she deserves more, and perhaps the reminder gives him pause, or perhaps it gives him even more reason to want to kiss her. Theon isn’t sure anymore where the lines have blurred. “Have you kissed a boy before?” He quickly recovers, trying to play off what he almost attempted to do.

“Once,” Sansa admits. “Joffrey. Wasn’t much.” Her face sours at the mention of the Bastard King. 

Theon simply nods, not sure where to bring this conversation now. His thumb subconsciously rubs circles atop her hands, his field of vision shifting as he turns away for a moment, trying to figure out where to bring the conversation from here.

“I know you cannot say the same.” Sansa says, suddenly saving him. 

“Does it bother you?” He asks.

“No.. although that might change when it comes time to… you know.” Her cheeks turn pink, and Theon feels his stomach flip at the thought of where her words don’t dare go. Once more he’s clearing his throat. 

“Talking about it helps, like now. When I look at you and see Theon, my friend, it definitely helps make it easier.” Sansa speaks once more.

Friend. The word is so final. As much as they want to rely on their friendship, the longer Theon sits here with Sansa, he realizes how badly he wishes to pursue her and make this more than friendship. It’s like some magnetic pull, the more they sit and talk as friends, the more he realizes that perhaps there was more than friendship here all along. 

Feelings were far too complicated. This was why he didn’t wish to linger on them, just act on them. That’s how he always lived, acted impulsive, emotions were seen as weakness. He could see that now, his complicated feelings about Sansa made him weak - especially weaker than her, who sat here so composed and unaware of his internal battle. It’s in this moment where he seriously considers throwing caution to the wind and kissing her. 

Light eyes look down at her, her own blue hues looking up into his own. Soon his gaze moves to her mouth, a breath is drawn from his lips as he releases the grip on her hands to instead have his fingers rest under her chin, drawing her closer as he dares close the distance between them and pursue Sansa as she deserves. 

She doesn’t fight it, either. He hears her suck in some air in preparation, body slightly stiffening, though never once does she pull away from him. He’s made himself watch closely for her reaction, to withdraw if she doesn’t seem even the slightest bit interested. This is all new to him, normally he’d just go for it, yet he’s considering her every step of the way. Truth be told, Theon’s not even sure what he’s doing and why, if someone asked him an hour ago if he’d be attempting to kiss Sansa Stark, he’d probably laugh in their face. He’s so unsure of his own feelings, but he is so incapable of not acting on his slightest impulses, that he finds himself here. 

It’s intentional how slow he moves, giving Sansa ample opportunity to pull back.

But she doesn’t.

He draws closer, and closer until -

“Princess, my Lord, supper is ready for you. The King asked me to summon you.” A servant announces, then walks away quickly, completely unaware of what he’s interrupted. 

Theon could curse, but he remains calm, mostly to feel out Sansa’s reaction. 

If she wished to stay here and continue instead of going to dinner, he wouldn’t fight her on that. 

Sansa, however, stands up suddenly, as if she’s been awoken from a sort of bad dream. He can see her blushing furiously, and she rushes to flatten out her dress. He fears he has made this turtle retreat back inside its shell once more, awkward and unwilling to talk to him about their marriage. Though she pleasantly proves him wrong, seeing as she is now sticking her arm out for him to take.

“We can talk later, if there’s something left for you to say.” She tells him, playing it off as if they didn’t almost have this moment. 

“We’ve got all the time in the world, don’t we?” He asks, looping their arms as he leads them towards the castle doors. 

“It seems as if we do.” 

So the two went inside for dinner, Theon feeling infinitely more confused than he had earlier that day, completely lost as to what changed so quickly that his brain has become so occupied with Sansa Stark in a way it probably shouldn’t..

At least not yet. 


End file.
